The Ashen Road
by Velothi
Summary: When Breton mage Margot Jovaine meets the strange and exotic Dunmer Lleryn Serathis, she is delighted by his offer to accompany her on her travels as a hired blade. Eventually, disregarding the racial divide, they enter a tentative intimate relationship. But when Margot gives birth to a half-mer child, a new threat rises: the Thalmor are in Skyrim, and they're watching.
1. Prologue: An Unexpected Encounter

_A/N:__ Hello my crumpets! Nice to be back round here after all these years (wow things have certainly changed...) Since I'm currently battling my way through a year at a foreign university, new chapters may take their time, but you can be sure they'll be up there eventually! Anyway, here's my first fanfic in ages, hope you enjoy :)_

_(Prologue is a little flash-forward, by the way.)_

* * *

Alennu looked up, up into the pair of cold amber eyes that glared at him from the depths of the black hood. The elf was much taller than any he had ever seen, stern-faced and clad in heavy black robes that cloaked his imposing form. Judging by the lustrous gleam of gold trimmings upon his sharp-shouldered uniform, he was a very important person indeed. Certainly more important than any of the others who passed through this quiet part of the Rift.

The elf's skin also drew Alennu's wondering gaze; it was not grey like his father's or honeyed-brown like his new friend Niri's - instead it had the shine of gold to it, gleaming from within as though holding an immense and unimagineable source of magicka. For a brief second he thought, awe-struck, of the legendary Chimer, the distant ancestors of the Dunmer who featured in so many of his father's winter tales at their small family shrine...but of course, the Chimer were no more, and though this person was just as golden and impressive, it was now clear to Alennu that he must be an Altmer of the distant Summerset Isles. Never before had such an elf been seen in this place, at least not by young Alennu in the nine short years of his life -

'What are you staring at, boy?' snapped the tall elf, who was starting to scowl more deeply, sculpted nostrils flaring in annoyance at being watched in such fashion. 'Have you not been taught to show deference to justiciars of the Thalmor?'

An Altmer...but not just any Altmer - a member of the _Thalmor_. To Alennu, child though he still was, the word was synonymous with danger, linked to whispers of violence and mysterious disappearances...Nords taken from their homes, elves beaten half to death in the wilds.

Hurriedly Alennu bowed, anxious to placate this figure of ruthless and fearsome authority, his barely-restrained terror making the movement a little too fast to be properly polite. Straightening up, he adjusted the bundle of firewood in his arms, hoping to continue on his way quickly, and leave this unforeseen encounter as soon as he could. However, the justiciar had not moved on as he usually would have, after having affirmed his superiority. To Alennu's horror, he was looking directly at him from his lofty height, staring down his noble golden nose at the quivering boy with a gaze too calculating for comfort.

'Where are you from, child?' he asked sharply.

'I...' Alennu clasped his hands together to keep them from trembling. 'I'm from just down the road, sir.'

The justiciar's lip curled. 'I meant your _race_, idiot boy. I can see very well that you are not a Nord.'

A newer, colder terror seized Alennu - not the simple terror of a boy faced with a stern authority figure, but that of one who knows he is teetering on the brink of real danger.

'I'm a Breton. Sir.'

The justiciar tilted his head back, slowly, heavy-lidded eyes narrowed to the barest glint of amber. For what seemed an eternity he was silent, but just when Alennu was daring to hope that he'd gotten away with it, the Altmer said:

'I don't believe you.'

The lightness of his tone was far more frightening than any other indication of displeasure; Alennu felt himself tremble anew, hands clammy around the sticks. What could he answer to that? He was unsure of even being capable of speech at all.

'What is your name?'

'Alexandre,' Alennu told him, finding his voice, all in desperate earnest. In his looks he took after his Breton mother, who had told him to always use his Breton birth name if questioned thus. 'Please, sir, I really am Breton. My name is Alexandre, Alexandre Serathis, you can ask anyone you like -'

He was speaking so quickly that he barely noticed his fatal error until it was too late, and the Thalmor's graceful form had become deadly still, a cold, hard gleam to his unblinking eyes.

'_Serathis_, you say?' he whispered. 'Why, that is certainly not a Breton name. That is a _Dunmer_ name.'

Alennu had lost the ability to breathe or move. He stared back helplessly, knees a-tremble as the Altmer's mouth tightened into a grim, mocking half-smile.

'Do you think me a half-wit? I have a _very_ thorough knowledge of the lesser races of mer in Tamriel, boy,' he said softly. 'As a justiciar it was part of my _training_ to recognise racial traits at a glance. And though you think the colour of your skin and your eyes may fool everyone, you cannot hide the structure of your bones, or the shape of the tips of your ears. I can see _very_ clearly that you are not just a member of the lower races...you are a filthy, mongrel _half-mer_.'

The absolute softness and iciness of his voice froze Alennu to the spot, menacing and low as the growl of a sabretooth cornering its prey.

'We take a very dim view of abominations such as yourself, little halfling,' whispered the justiciar. 'Purity of blood must be strictly adhered to, if other mer are to follow our great example. How can they aspire to be like us if they mate with humans and sully their bloodlines?' His lip curled. 'Look at yourself. An ungainly mix of traits never meant to merge in the first place. Neither elf nor human. Mongrels like you have no place in this world.'

His hand was resting upon the hilt of the gleaming elven mace at his belt, and at that moment Alennu knew that he had to either run or die.

Dropping his carefully-collected firewood, he fled down the path, away from the Thalmor, away from the fearsome judgement that seared in the justiciar's eyes -

He had barely covered any distance when suddenly a jolt of lightning it hit him, crackling hot and blue over his skin. It was unlike any other pain he had felt, seizing up his limbs and draining all magicka from his body. He screamed out, falling to the ground and curling convulsively into a ball, trembling violently beneath the merciless and powerful force of the Thalmor -

The sound of a man shouting reached his ringing ears, and abruptly the bolts of searing energy were gone, no longer hurting him, though the ache still gripped every muscle. Alennu struggled to his feet, spinning about to see why he had been spared.

A short distance away the justiciar was grappling with someone who had leapt at him - old Hrogar, judging by the grey pony that was milling about unattended by the wayside.

'Run, boy! _Quickly!_' Hrogar bellowed hoarsely, struggling to pin the tall Altmer's arms to his sides. Despite having not a single trace of magicka within him, a lifetime of hard work in the fields had made Hrogar brawny even in his old age, something which he was now using to his advantage against the furious elf.

Not needing to be told twice, Alennu set off as fast as he could down the road, legs still stiff from the attack. Behind him Hrogar wrestled valiantly with the Altmer, buying him valuable time to make his escape. Only when he had reached the last hilltop did Alennu chance to look back, gasping for breath and clutching at a stitch in his side.

Hrogar was still locked with the Thalmor, having successfully disarmed him and immobilised his wrists...but further up the road two more elves, almost as tall as the justiciar and clad in elven-made armour of gleaming gold, were clattering towards them at speed.

A sob of horror escaped Alennu as he saw the flash of an elven sword, hearing the distant, indistinguishable shouts of the old man as he challenged his attackers. Then, Hrogar was doubled over, the justiciar tearing his gloved hands free as the Thalmor soldiers raised their swords again -

Alennu turned away and fled, but still caught the bright flash of lightning and the terrified whinny of the grey pony, which drowned out any cry that may have come from Hrogar as he was overcome.

* * *

Alennu half-fell over the rickety fence surrounding the potato plot, scrambling to his feet and racing toward the familiar figure tending to the plants there. Breathless and weeping, he threw himself at his father, clinging onto the fabric of his faded scarf and burying his face in his clothing.

''Nu?' his father asked in bewilderment. 'What is it?'

'There - there was a Thalmor on the road,' Alennu sobbed. 'He stopped me and he knew I was half-mer and then he hurt me, and old Hrogar's -'

'_Thalmor_?' his father repeated, taking him by the shoulders, meeting his son's teary hazel eyes with a concerned red gaze beneath black, arched brows. 'Tell me everything.'

With a few sniffs Alennu did so, though when he reached the part concerning brave old Hrogar the lump in his throat choked any further words from leaving him. Instead, he wrapped himself around his father, who lifted him in his ever-sinewy grey arms, carrying him to the house with a murmur of consolation.

* * *

Hurriedly opening the door with a hip, Alennu still in his arms, Lleryn called out: 'Margot? Margot, my love, are you there?'

'Lleryn? What is it?' Alennu's mother appeared from the main room, alerted by the panic in her husband's voice.

'Alennu was attacked by a justiciar on the road, Margot,' he told her, voice quivering. 'They know.'

Alennu looked over at his mother, and saw the fear pale her face. She pushed her unruly brown curls back, eyes flicking between her husband and their child. 'They...they know?'

Alennu sniffed. 'At first I thought he was going to leave me alone once I bowed to him like he wanted,' he told her tearfully. 'When he asked me my name I said my Breton name, Alexandre, like you told me to. But...but he saw...' Fresh tears ran hot down his cheeks, and Lleryn gathered him close, hushing his weeping.

'How badly hurt is he?' Margot asked in hushed tones.

'A few light burns,' Lleryn answered grimly. 'Fetcher must have used a shock spell. Poor lad's quite shaken, but he'll heal up soon enough.'

Tight-lipped, Margot straightened up, looking about herself. 'We have to leave, then, and quickly,' she said, low and decisive. 'They'll be searching the whole of the Rift for him.'

Alennu raised his head. 'Leave?' he repeated.

'Your mother is right, I'm afraid,' Lleryn murmured. 'We can't afford to wait for an entire cohort of Thalmor soldiers to break down our door. Come on, 'Nu. Let's get our things together.'

In a daze, Alennu complied, shuffling to the tiny bedroom that had been his for as long as he could remember. This house - this modest, homely house with his father's prized vegetable garden outside - it had been his home since he was a baby. To leave it all behind so suddenly...he thought of his friends, of Niri the little Bosmer girl who fired nuts at him with her slingshot whenever he was in the woods...would he ever see them again? Saddened and still stunned, he helped his father fill an old sack with his possessions, no longer certain of anything any more.

* * *

_A/N:__ (I love reviews! They are my motivation!)_


	2. Chapter 1: Horker Loaf

_Windhelm, 11 years previously_

'Oh, for the love of Talos...Margot! _Margot_!' Olsa Crab-Kicker yelled down the rickety stairs. Her apprentice, a rather harried young Breton, scrambled to attention from her straw bed, hastily straightening her hair.

'Yes, Miss Olsa?'

'Horker loaf's all gone. Hurry on down to the market, the stalls should just be laying out. Get a good thick slice, before Giordano takes all the good cuts. And make sure that greyface doesn't overcharge you for the tripe he sells!' Olsa scowled. 'Be quick about it, I need a good meal today - especially after that godsawful commotion in the streets last night. Suppose it was those damned elves making a fuss again. The Jarl should just turn 'em out, I say, and be done with it...' Still grumbling, the old woman shuffled away, leaving Margot to dress herself with a sigh, fighting her hair into its usual dark plait.

Working for the crotchety Nord alchemist was certainly not what she had hoped for herself; she had come to Skyrim full of ambition, hoping to train her skills as a mage...but the College of Winterhold had flatly rejected her, given that her only skill was in mild Restoration. It seemed she had expected too much of herself, and now, unwilling to make the long journey back home alone and in shame, she had ended up here at Olsa's Unguents, gathering ingredients and running errands.

Today would certainly be no different from the days that had come before - Olsa was muttering in the back room as usual, clinking jars together, and the handful of septims for the market was on the counter. As soon as Margot had scooped them into her hand, Olsa called: 'That's three septims, girl! I expect you to bring back the exact equivalent in meat, do you hear?'

'Yes, Olsa, of course,' she replied. Even after three months the old woman did not entirely trust her - but such was her nature, and there was little to be done about it.

* * *

When Margot finally arrived at the frozen market, tucking her arms tightly about herself against the bitter cold, she made her way straight to Atheron's stand, hoping to return to the shelter of the shop as soon as possible. But when she looked across the frost-glazed assortment of unidentifiable animal parts, she blinked in surprise.

The elf at the stall today was certainly not Atheron. Even though Olsa always stubbornly maintained that all Dunmer looked the same with their strange eyes and skin and their pointed ears, Margot found the difference startling. This particular elf had prominent cheekbones and exotic, heavy-lidded red eyes beneath his arched brow, and a shining row of rings adorned the outer edge of each ear with an intimidating glint of metal. Having not yet noticed her, he was gazing out across the crowd, idly picking his teeth.

Margot cleared her throat briskly to alert him to her presence, and his head turned in surprise. 'What? Oh - er...what do you want?' he asked her gruffly, in a voice that growled deep in his throat.

She blinked, taken aback by his bluntness, but then noticed from the uncertain set of his jaw that he was rather unused to stall-keeping, and was probably more wary of her than she was of him.

'Have you got any horker today?' she asked him kindly enough, taking pity on him. No wonder there was so much meat still upon the table - that elf's surly face and rough manner would be enough to deter any prospective customer.

'Uh...yes, yes I do. Do you...want some?' he asked. When she patiently answered in the affirmative, he took the cloth from her and proceeded to inelegantly but carefully wrap a generous slice. 'It's fresh,' he told her conversationally. 'Stripped the thing myself this morning. I help Aval out now and then, hunting on the ice floes, you see.'

Margot raised her eyebrows in surprise. It certainly wasn't difficult to imagine this wiry, odd elf taking on a huge horker bull on his own, though the thought of anyone contending with such a massive blubbery creature unaided seemed pure madness. But of course, in this harsh place one did what one could to earn a few septims here and there - Margot herself was no exception.

'What's happened to Atheron?' she enquired as she passed over the three coins.

'Oh - there was a fight last night, and he couldn't keep the stall with his face still swollen as it was,' he replied with a half-shrug. 'I offerred to help him out for a bit while he recovers...' He gestured aimlessly at the stall.

'Oh dear...well, I hope he gets better,' she answered, and the Dunmer's arched eyebrows raised.

'You do?' His eyes, so bizarrely red, blinked at her in surprise for a moment before he remembered himself. 'I mean...yes. Yes, I'm sure he will. I'll...I'll let him know you asked after him.'

Margot smiled encouragingly, for he had become gruff and uncertain again, which was at such odds with his intimidating appearance. Was it truly so strange for someone to wish a Dunmer well? Did everyone here share the opinion of Olsa on all foreign races?

Sighing inwardly, she barely noticed the elf's bowed lips twitch in the shadow of a return smile as she picked up the wrapped slice of horker meat.

'Well, it was nice meeting you...um...'

'Lleryn,' the Dunmer supplied, looking rather pleased to have been spoken to in such a way. 'Lleryn Serathis.'

'...Lleryn,' finished Margot with a wide smile. 'Good day!'

As she left the stall, her smile remained; after all, it was not every day that she met a person so unusual and different. In spite of Olsa's constant complaints about invasive immigrants taking over Windhelm, Margot found herself rather enthralled by this person of faraway lands. Had she been a less obedient young woman, she would have turned right around and gone back to talk to him, regardless of Olsa's orders of a swift return...but of course, lacking in such audacity, Margot simply made her wistful way back to Olsa's Unguents as expected, horker meat clutched tight in her arms.

* * *

'Look at that thing...' growled Rolff Stone-Fist, glaring with bloodshot eyes across the market. 'You take one down, and another one takes its place.' He spat into the snow, gaze still fixed upon the Dunmer in the tattered scarf who tended the meat stall. 'Who can even buy anything that's been touched by those filthy grey hands? Tell me that!'

Ingvald sighed heavily behind his guardsman's helmet. 'I'm not too happy with it either,' he answered. 'But there's not much more we can do about it now - Jarl Ulfric has raised their taxes again, so maybe they'll get the hint and leave...'

'Hah!' Rolff laughed derisively, crossing his arms. 'Those grey-skins are stubborn as scum. It'll take more than that to clear them out, I tell you!'

He narrowed his eyes, watching the Dunmer with such hatred that Ingvald answered in an undertone: 'Rolff, I covered for you again last night because you are brother to Galmar and I have no love for these elves. But as a guard there is only so much I can overlook and still keep my place. Just...make sure that whatever you do is done quietly next time, won't you?'

His lip curled in a grimace. 'Of course. Of course...'


	3. Chapter 2: Healing Hands

'The White Phial. _Hmph_! Run by an _elf_, it is. Probably fills his concoctions with nasty _elf magic_, and who knows where his ingredients come from, but at least he's not a grey-skin skulking the streets like a criminal -'

Margot patiently measured out a few pinches of bone meal, ignoring Olsa's usual tirade about their rival alchemy store. Barely a day went by without the old woman vowing to put them out of business, but Margot secretly knew that there was no way shabby Olsa's Unguent's could surpass the much more well-established and successful White Phial, short of setting the place on fire. Olsa's ingredients were never of good quality, and neither were her potions, though she always stubbornly maintained that they were good Nord concoctions and thus far superior to anything made by "that decrepit elf and his conniving Imperial milk-drinker of an assistant".

Carefully she tipped the powder into the small mortar bowl, pausing briefly to extract a few obvious lumps of grit that had been mixed in with the bone meal. No wonder the store was getting less and less custom...with ingredients like these, it would be impossible to mix any potion worth spending thirty-odd septims on. What they needed was a decent source of materials, not just the cheap plant and animal derivatives that Olsa traded for with her old "acquaintances". If Margot were to search about a little more, maybe even venture out into the countryside herself for ingredients, then perhaps the condition of the potions they sold would improve by some measure -

'Are you even listening to me, girl?'

Margot jumped, suddenly aware that Olsa's griping had ceased and the old woman's perpetual discontent was now directed at her. 'Oh - I'm sorry, Miss Olsa, what did you say?'

'Useless creature...I _said_ that the sun is nearly set, and it's time to eat!' she snapped. 'Leave that bowl, it'll keep. Quickly, now, off to the kitchen with you! I'm in the mood for some rabbit.'

'Yes, Miss Olsa.' Giving her hands a cursory wipe with a rag, she abandoned her task and set off instead for the pantry, fighting to keep back a recalcitrant grimace.

* * *

A few moments and a brief scolding later, Margot found herself out in the snowy streets, sent to the market square to retrieve any last morsels of rabbit that could fill Olsa's meat larder, discovered to have been completely empty. It had been just over a week since the last of the horker loaf had been finished, and although Margot was reluctant to venture into the cold she found herself not altogether as disgruntled as she might have been. After all, the marketplace was where she had met the Dunmer Lleryn Serathis, and in all truthfulness she was rather looking forward to catching a glimpse of him again.

Satchel tucked under her arm, she marched through the thinning crowd of departing traders and townsfolk, making straight for the familiar rickety stall. Fortunately, it was not yet deserted at this hour - the two Dunmeri behind it were only just beginning to clear away when she arrived, eager-eyed and slightly short of breath.

However, her anticipation was short-lived, for neither of the two were Lleryn; instead, it was Atheron himself and a slightly younger Dunmer with a snub-nose who stared at her as she approached.

'Oh - good evening, Atheron,' she greeted him, quickly hiding her disappointment. 'Is there any chance you might have some rabbit left over?'

Atheron glanced up at her, giving her a cursory nod. It seemed he had recovered from his injuries, though his right eye-socket still appeared lightly bruised. 'Well, you're certainly cutting it fine, we were just about to close for the day - but I think we might have a leg or two from Lleryn's catch a few days ago, if you don't mind something lightly aged...'

'Better than nothing,' Margot shrugged, gladly handing over the gold and wrapping-cloth. After a few moments of watching him dig for a pair of scrawny rabbit legs, she asked with casual nonchalance: 'Speaking of Lleryn...how is he?'

The snub-nosed Dunmer beside Atheron gave a snort, sharing a glance with with the other elf. 'Silly fetcher's gotten himself bit by an ice wolf,' he said, not appearing in the least bit concerned. 'He flamed the beast to death afterward, but not before it managed to give him something nasty. He probably won't be hunting much more for Aval, not with his knees locked up and his fingers swollen stiff, oh no!' He shook his head, still chuckling. 'Serves him right, the arrogant s'wit, he was only helping Aval out to get in with his sister -'

'Oh, shut it, Orvas!' snapped Atheron, piqued, then, turning to Margot, said: 'Here's your rabbit. I reckon if you put twice the salt in with it you'll hardly notice the taste. Good evening!'

Margot accepted the bundle mutely, shocked at what she had learned. Not only was Lleryn no longer tending to the stall, but he was ill, too - and who knew what dreadful contagions were carried by the ice-toughened animals this far north. If only she were brave enough to venture into the dingy alleys of the Grey Quarter - then she might be able to help him, if he really was so sick. She highly doubted that dark elves were given any charitable aid if they were seriously ill in this town; she could hardly imagine any venturing into the Temple. Why, they were barely even tolerated on the main streets!

Full of worry, she hurried back towards Olsa's Unguents, hoping that she would be able to concoct some form of a plan to help the poor elf. If she were to brave the Gray Quarter in the daytime, perhaps then -

The sound of scraping and hissed curses made her pause, looking back. It seemed the street she had started along was not entirely deserted: a tall, lean figure wrapped in layers of faded cloth was seated upon the wood-chopping block, sharpening an axe with some difficulty over one knee. Margot stood still, unable to believe it.

'_Lleryn?_'

He turned, a little less smoothly than usual, and she was met with a familiar pair of heavy-lidded red eyes, now staring at her in bemusement. 'Oh...it's you!'

She rushed over to him, bumping the bundle of rabbit meat a little but not particularly caring. 'I heard from Atheron - he said you were ill, that you'd been bitten while out hunting -'

Lleryn looked away, shrugging one shoulder non-committally. 'I got away in the end,' he answered gruffly, a little awkward in the face of such concern from another person. 'It's not the worst bite I've had, after all...'

Margot frowned at him, unconvinced and a little miffed by his casual attitude. She had seen his hands, with which he was trying to hold and sharpen the axe - they were wrapped from wrist to fingertip in bandaging, which did nothing to conceal the obvious swelling at each joint. It looked far more painful than he was letting on, and yet here he was, out chopping wood as though nothing was wrong!

'You've got rockjoint,' she denounced him, making him look back up at her in guilty surprise. 'That wolf gave you an awful disease and you're trying to hide it!'

Lleryn frowned back at her, shoulders stiffening in annoyance. 'I - very well, so maybe that animal was carrying something - but I'm still fit enough to keep working, I'm no weakling!'

She glared at him, retorting: 'This is madness - you'll do yourself even more harm this way, hauling that axe about!'

But there seemed to be no convincing him; setting his jaw, he argued vehemently: 'I have survived _years_ crossing the ash-wastes of Morrowind, killing every beast that tried to eat me, and I assure you that this is _nothing_!'

She met his ember-red glare unflinching, frustrated by his stubborn foolishness. 'At least rest a few days, or get yourself a potion!' she cried out, exasperated.

'Do I look as though I can afford either of those things?' Lleryn stormed, rising to his feet - or, at least, attempting to do so. What actually occurred was that he only half-rose, knees locking painfully, which ruined his endeavour to tower intimidatingly over her, and instead left him stuck in an awkward, ungainly half-crouch. A stream of outlandish and foreign-sounding swearwords issued from him in a strangled growl, but Margot quickly caught him before he could keel over, rolling up her sleeves and calling up the long-unused reserves of magicka within herself.

'Don't move, you silly elf,' she muttered, ignoring his protests as she placed one palm, glowing with the golden light of a healing spell, upon his right kneecap. Concentrating on supporting him as he grudgingly leant on her and channelling her magicka into the afflicted area, she worked to relieve some of the swelling first in one knee, then the other. Once he could move the joints a little easier and stand up straight, she took his long bony hands in hers and let the healing force seep through skin and bandaging, warming and easing each finger and wrist. The effort took all of her attention, not having practiced her skill in many long months, but when she was finally satisfied that his symptoms were abated, she chanced to look up at him. The relief upon his face was all the reward she could have wished for; his mouth was no longer tight and grim, nor were the lines that parenthesised it hardened and deep.

He cleared his throat. 'You didn't have to do that.'

'I know.'

One corner of his mouth lifted a little in a smile, with all the hesitance of someone unused to doing so very often. 'Um...thank you, er...'

She smiled back. 'Margot.'

'Margot...' Her name had never sounded quite the way it did when spoken by him. 'I...didn't know you could do that kind of magic.'

She lowered her eyes, shrugging. 'I wanted to be a mage, once,' she replied, a little wistful. 'I'm just here to save up enough gold to go back home.' Lleryn started to flex and extend his fingers experimentally, and she grabbed his wrist. 'But you're not saved just yet, Serathis. I've only healed the swelling for a little while. You're still riddled with disease, and you'll need a potion for that.'

His dark brows fell stormily over his eyes, but before he could speak, she added: 'Luckily for you, however, I may have a way to help you.'


	4. Chapter 3: A Small Sacrifice

_Hawk feathers_. She knew she had seen them somewhere, among the rows and rows of bottles that littered the higher shelves of Olsa's storeroom. When administered correctly, their universal healing properties could cure a disease on their own just as effectively as any other mixed compound...but where to find them? They were not counted amongst the most common of ingredients, and she did not recall any coming in with Olsa's more recent trades. But she was certain that one day, many months ago, while labelling and organising the old boxes and bottles upon the shelves, she had come across a small container upon which she had written "Hawk Feathers". They had to be up here somewhere...

Teetering on the tips of her toes atop a stool to make up for her lack of stature, she stretched her arm as high as she could, rummaging behind the front row of bottles to feel if there was anything behind. Holding her breath, she cursed having been born with short legs, pushing herself to stretch another crucial few inches. Olsa was dangerously near in the next room, having sent her to the storeroom to collect some nirnroot - an opportunity she had immediately seized to look for Lleryn's cure. After they had spoken two nights ago, it had been decided that since he was unable to afford a White Phial potion, and Olsa would never tolerate a Dunmer within three feet of her establishment, Margot would find something for him herself. Unfortunately, that "something" was proving very elusive and hard to find -

Her fingers suddenly brushed the battered corners of a small box, shunted to the very back of the shelf and silky with cobwebbing. Heart hammering in her chest, she inched it closer with her straining fingertips, reaching up with her other hand to move aside the bottles arranged in front of it. It took a good few breathless moments of effort, but finally the box was down and, sure enough, it bore the label "Hawk Feathers" written in her own cursive hand.

Jumping from the stool, she brushed impatiently at the cobwebbing and lifted the lid of the container to extract her prize within -

The dusty, raggedy shred of plumage she pulled from the box made her heart sink. This was barely even a feather any more, so badly-kept and old it was. She highly doubted that such a thing possessed any healing qualities whatsoever any more. If anything, it was probably crawling with mites and liable to make anyone even sicker than they already were. Slowly she put it down, shoulders sagging in defeat, hardly able to believe it. What in sweet Mara's name was she to do now? Old ingredients would hardly be missed from here, but taking one of the jealously-guarded potions from Olsa's cabinet would be a death sentence for sure. Her fist clenched upon the stained fabric of her apron, torn by frustration and indecision. _What could she do?_

* * *

'It's not right,' complained Angrenor bitterly, glowering sullenly into the dregs of mead left in the tankard Rolff had offerred him. 'Living like this, I mean. Sharing our home with a load of stinkin' elves.'

'That's for sure!' affirmed his companion whole-heartedly, and waved his own empty tankard at the server-girl. 'Another for me and my friend!'

'I was in the war,' Angrenor stated, as though nobody had heard the tale a hundred times before already. 'I fought the elven scum for my homeland as they shattered their way through our ranks of brothers. Golden-faced monsters, they were, cruel and shining with their unnatural _magicka_.' He shuddered at the memory. 'A strong footman with a good honest sword in his hand didn't even stand a chance before their trickery. The devious bastards never fought fair - they called down their lightning and their fire and their ice and woe betide the poor man who stood in front!' His eyes were fixed upon something distant, not altogether there. 'Then came their soldiers with their maces and elven-forged blades to hack through anyone still left standing! But, by Shor, such a fight we gave them, never backing down, showing them what true Nord warriors have in 'em!' Pride glowed in his eyes for a moment, his posture straightening fiercely - but then the old chest-wound that plagued him made him double up, cluching at his shirt, pain and frustration lining his face once again. 'But what does it matter now?' he lamented sullenly. 'Now we have elves living within the very walls of our city! Dark elves, high elves, they're all the same with their evil magicka and nasty pointy faces...'

'Drink up, man,' growled Rolff, pushing a second tankard into Angrenor's idling hands. 'We'll need the mead to warm us tonight if we're to go on our _evening walk_.'

Angrenor grumbled. 'I don't know, Rolff...' he dithered, resting his head upon his hand. 'I don't want to get in bad with the guards, you see, not after I fought beside them for Ulfric...'

Rolff scoffed. 'You're always asleep anyway after your fourth cup,' he replied. 'No matter. You've done your part fighting elven bastards...but _my _work in protecting our city is far from done yet...!'

* * *

Quintus Navale was just polishing the last of the jars upon the counter when the door of the White Phial opened, letting in a gust of icy wind that flapped the corners of the order-sheets he had arranged. The customer who entered revealed herself to be a young Breton woman, wrapped against the cold with a hooded cloak, which she pushed back from her face upon entering. She had the air of someone who had just made a very important decision, and was rather nervous about it. Quintus waited patiently for her to speak.

'Good afternoon,' she finally addressed him, her green eyes still appearing slightly faraway and preoccupied. 'I'd like a potion to cure rockjoint, please.'

'Certainly,' he replied, wondering what her heavy-hearted look was for, but refraining from asking. It didn't appear as though she had rockjoint herself...perhaps a loved one was seriously afflicted and half-dead from it...he knew the disease could paralyse if left untreated for a long time, though he did not recall hearing talk in Windhelm of anyone carrying the illness...

Finding the gleaming bottle upon its neatly categorised shelf, he placed it upon the counter for her, wrapping it in a soft drawstring bag for safekeeping. 'Eighty septims, then.'

He saw her lips tighten slightly, but she drew out her purse readily enough, emptying it entirely until eight stacks of ten gold coins gleamed in front of him. 'There it is - eighty septims,' she said, her tone light enough but not altogether convincing. Quintus smiled compassionately; so it was an issue of gold, then, that weighed upon her. Well, there was little he could do on that account - Master Nurelion rightfully charged high prices for his expertly-crafted potions, for they were of the highest quality in Eastmarch and never failed in their purpose. The Breton girl was not one of the usual patrons of the White Phial, but if she had the gold here, then there was no issue with that. Thanking her, Quintus bade her good afternoon, and busied himself with putting the gold with the rest of the earnings in the coffer.

* * *

Margot felt slightly light-headed that evening as she slipped out of Olsa's Unguents, having left the old woman snoring by the fire after a hard day of griping about no business. It had not been an easy decision, spending three-quarters of the gold she had earned towards her going-home fund all at once like that. Her whole purpose of working here had, after all, been to save enough coin to afford to travel back to High Rock.

It had cost her much to come here in the first place, and even with a little left over it had been hard work to save enough for a return journey. Now there was a paltry handful of septims jangling forlornly in her once-full pouch, but the memory of her Dunmer acquaintance's condition made her certain that her decision was right. There was no way she could have departed from Windhelm knowing that Lleryn was badly ill and slowly descending into full paralysis - what did it matter if she had to stay here a few months more, to collect enough gold again? After all, if she did not help the afflicted Dunmer, then who would?

Jaw set, she marched through the Stone Quarter, her boots crunching sharply in the snow that had fallen a few hours ago, full of single-minded purpose. The precious bottle in its cloth bag was tucked safely within the folds of her robe, the potion inside swishing a little as she walked. Lleryn had told her that he was usually to be found at the New Gnisis Cornerclub in the evenings, where he took his meal with his fellow Dunmer. She had been given rough directions on where to find it, and was prepared to search around a little...but what she was not prepared for was the sight of the Grey Quarter itself, in which it was located.

Few regularly ventured into this forsaken part of the city, and Margot could clearly see why: the streets were narrow, closed in on both sides by tall and grim-looking stone buildings that seemed to be in need of heavy repair...deep snowdrifts, black with dirt and trodden to slush through the main road, blocked many small alleyways where they had not been swept away...a cold, bitter wind caught the sides of the buildings, which channelled the worst of it directly down the street and made the steps slippery with ice. On top of it all, wastewater from the rest of the town had flowed downhill and frozen upon the paving stones, caking them with filth and blackening the snow. Margot stepped slowly and carefully, picking her way along, keeping watch for her destination and wondering at how it was possible to live in such a place. Above her head, in the sputtering light of a torch, many colourful and wind-torn banners were hung, their faded designs lending a little warmth to the otherwise grim darkness of the slum. Fragments of a distant, unfamiliar culture, they stood out strongly against the gloomy cut of Nord architecture that surrounded them. Pulling her cloak tighter around herself, Margot spotted a building lit by a flickering torch, bearing a sign that denoted it as the New Gnisis Cornerclub. So this was the place then...taking a deep breath, Margot climbed the steps, seized the doorhandle and pushed.


	5. Chapter 4: Unwelcome Guests

Margot entered to a chorus of grumbles and growls of 'Shut the door, fetcher!' before she hurriedly pulled the door closed behind her, shutting out the flurry of snow that blew upon the threshold. Dozens of pairs of red eyes stared at her as she stood in their midst, a pale figure alone in a sea of grey. It appeared that most of the Dunmer population of Windhelm was crammed into this small room, huddled in small groups around the rickety tables with their drinks and their modest meals. Some faces she recognised and others she did not, but at this moment it mattered little for every single one of them was turned towards her. Never had she felt more out of place and under scrutiny - in this tiny bubble of Dunmeri culture it was she who was the outsider, the intruding minority. Flushing like a flustered idiot she glanced about desperately for the familiar long face and heavily-pierced ears of Lleryn, but in the haze of heady warmth and dancing candlelight she couldn't seem to find him anywhere. Ignoring the curious stares and mutters around her, Margot insinuated her way through the closely-packed groups of tables and chairs toward the counter, feeling a little light-headed from the heat on her frozen skin and the rich, spicy scents that filled her nose.

Slipping past a chattering couple, she finally managed to get an elbow up onto the countertop.

'Excuse me - I'm looking for Lleryn Serathis,' she said to the Dunmer serving out drinks from strange, curvaceous jugs. He gave her an odd look, obviously unused to seeing very many human visitors, and replied a little defensively:

'What do you want with him?'

'I know he's ill, and I've come with help for him,' she answered earnestly. 'He asked me to meet him here.'

The server looked her up and down, then, deciding that she appeared harmless enough, said: 'Well, he'll probably be at his place tonight. Looked a bit peaky yesterday. The cold outside wasn't doing him much good.'

'Where does he live?'

He gave her the directions, remarking that Lleryn was likely to be wanting something strong to drink. Margot smiled grimly.

'Well, I have just the thing for him. Thank you,' she replied, and began the awkward, twisting journey back to the door again.

* * *

'Lleryn? she called softly. Nobody had come to the door of the narrow, smoke-stained house she had been told was Lleryn's when she had knocked, and she had tentatively entered anyway, just in case. Worry was eating at her inside; why had he not come? Why did he not answer? Was he so very sick?

Margot crossed the tiny, dark hallway, looking about herself. Items of old Nord furniture, perhaps from a previous owner, had been draped with faded, time-greyed pieces of rough fabric, upon which different hues of red and orange and yellow and black melded into one another. Strange, angular insects drawn with swirls and spirals decorated some, while others bore vaguely humanoid figures in various positions. Margot wondered at what she saw, her breath coming in pale clouds of vapour in the chill of the entryway.

The murmur of male speech reached her ears, coming from behind a door to her right. _Lleryn_! He was speaking to someone, though she could not make out who - but his voice was low, soft, as though the person he was addressing was one very dear to him. Unwilling to intrude, Margot hovered helplessly in the hallway for a moment before she was able to gather the courage to knock.

'Lleryn?'

There was a brief pause. Then: 'Margot? Is that you? Come in.'

Carefully she pushed open the door, peering around it into the room on the other side. It was small and lit by a dying fire, its floorboards blackened and warped with age. More hangings from Morrowind draped the rafters, and in the middle of the room was Lleryn himself, alone.

He seemed to have been trying to get up to greet her, but gotten stuck in the process; none of his limbs were able to bend properly any more, swollen even worse than before. His dusky grey face was looking haggard and pale, brow lined with barely-concealed pain.

'Oh - I was so worried when I couldn't find- no, don't get up, sit yourself down by the fire!' She flapped around him anxiously, noticing how his body appeared rather more skinny than usual. Obediently he allowed her to ease him into a sitting position close to the hearth, which she poked at vigorously to bring more heat into the room. 'Dear Mara, you're so thin...!'

'I'm fine,' he grumbled, a little flustered by the fuss to which he was so ill-accustomed. 'I'm still breathing.'

'Only just!' retorted Margot, rummaging in the folds of her robe for the bag. 'You're lucky I managed to find this in time...I heard you'd been housebound since yesterday -'

'I didn't think you'd actually come,' he admitted gruffly. 'Not...not that I'm not grateful, of course. It's just odd for anyone to bother themselves so much on my account...'

'Here,' she said, pulling the polished bottle from its bag. 'This will cure you once and for all, and you'll be healthy again in no time.'

His feverish eyes widened, revealing, she noticed, irises that were slightly paler and pinker than the piercing red that surrounded them. He looked at the bottle in shock.

'That's...is that a potion?' he asked her.

'Yes,' she replied briskly, pulling free the stopper. 'Drink up.'

Lleryn reached out stiffly with a hesitant hand, but it was clear that his fingers were swollen to the point of uselessness. There was no way for him to comfortably hold the bottle with fingers so afflicted - gods only knew how he had lit that fire - so after a few clumsy attempts at curling them around the bottle and being too stubborn to admit defeat, Margot finally put him out of his misery by suggesting that she help him.

'You're ill,' she spoke over his protests. 'Also, I won't have you spilling the stuff all over yourself. You're supposed to drink it, not bathe in it.'

Lleryn glowered a little but finally accepted, tilting up his pointed chin grudgingly. Shifting closer to him, Margot carefully brought the opening of the bottle to his parted lips, gently tipping it to fill his mouth with a small measure. He made an atrocious face as he swallowed it, hissing: 'Mephala's tits, what did they put in this? It tastes like burnt leather!'

'That'll be the skeever hide extract, I suppose,' Margot told him mildly. 'But just one mouthful isn't going to cure you. Open up.'

With a growl he obliged, and little by little the bottle was emptied, one mouthful at a time. Smiling, Margot put the bottle down, reaching up with her handkerchief to dab at a drop of stray potion that glistened upon his lip. He cleared his throat, grunting his thanks and remarking that he felt much better now.

His cheekbones and the tips of his ears seemed to have darkened a few shades, and to her surprise she realised that he was blushing. Feeling oddly pleased that he wasn't as tough and impervious as he appeared, she put away the empty bottle and its bag. Looking around, she abruptly remembered something.

'Who were you talking to, when I came in?' she asked curiously, for the small room held only herself and Lleryn.

In explanation he jerked his head in the direction of a small tray and bowl arranged neatly in one corner of the room, upon which an assortment of candles and various interesting artifacts were arranged. 'My ancestors,' he replied, as though this was nothing unusual. 'They wanted to know how I was getting along.'

Margot blinked at him. 'Your...your ancestors? she repeated.

'I suppose you don't venerate the departed in the way that we do,' he said. 'We Dunmer remain very close to our forefathers and clan ancestors. They give us help and guidance when we need it, as long as we maintain their shrines.' He glanced over at the tray. 'Of course, some shrines are a bit more opulent than others, but a fetcher trying to survive in a foreign land has to make do, hasn't he?'

Margot raised her eyebrows, feeling as though there were far more differences than she had initially thought between the two of them. In the short weeks since she had met him, her eyes had been rather suddenly opened to things she had never known about this strange and foreign people...

'It'll be nice to go outside again,' Lleryn murmured idly. 'That potion is a wonder. Wherever did you get hold of it?'

'The White Phial - their mixtures never fail,' she told him primly.

Lleryn froze. 'The _White Phial_?' he repeated, becoming very still, suddenly shocked and displeased. 'Master Nurelion's place?' He blinked at her, nonplussed. 'You - you mean to tell me you went and got me a potion crafted by Master Nurelion himself?'

'What's the matter with that?' Margot asked, rather taken aback by his abrupt change in demeanour.

'Margot, even _I've_ heard of him!' Lleryn raged. 'He crafts only the best, and charges a fortune for what he makes! How much did you have to spend on that?'

She frowned at him, annoyed at being addressed in such rough tone. 'That doesn't matter,' she replied defensively. 'You're cured, now, aren't you?'

'That's not the _point_!' he cried. 'Why did you have to go and do something like that for someone like _me_? We barely know each other! If you go out of your way to help every miserable undeserving s'wit you see on the street, you'll end up dead! Do you realise how easily someone could take advantage of your damned selflessness? The world is not as kind as you may believe!'

Margot coloured. 'Well, I'm _sorry_, Mister Serathis! Next time you're riddled with disease I'll just leave you in the gutter to die, shall I?'

'It was my own fault!' he retorted, eyes blazing like scarlet embers. 'I knew the risks very well! But you had no business dragging yourself down all for the sake of an idiot mer like -'

Suddenly a loud bellow echoed in the streets outside, shocking their heated argument into silence. The sharp tinkle of glass breaking upon stone sounded, not too far up the steps leading into the Grey Quarter.

'_Hey, filthy grey-skins! Yeah, 'm talkin' to _you_, you pointy-eared fuckers!'_ a male voice roared drunkenly, the noise amplified by the ice-glazed stone walls of the buildings. '_You're not welcome here and you never will be! There's no place for your sort in Skyrim! Go on back to Morrowind, where you're s'pposed to be!_'

A low growl rumbled in Lleryn's throat. 'Oh, gods, not again...'

The drunken yelling was growing nearer. '_Get your dirty rags off of here! This is a _Nordic_ place! Damned parasites!_' There was the sound of scuffling and grunting, as though the person outside was trying to tear down one of the banners, but then there was a loud thump and a fresh outpouring of loud insults and oaths.

Margot stared at Lleryn with wide eyes, her anger at him completely forgotten. She was about to ask him what in the world was going on when something hit the front door, very hard.

'_Come out of there, ya bastards!_' roared the drunkard, the pain-fuelled anger in his voice indicating that he had fallen over in his attempt to vandalise the street decorations. '_You wanna fight, then come get it! They don't call me Stone-Fist for nothing! I'll rip your pointy ears off your gods-damned HEADS!_'

There was another loud bang upon the door, and Margot seized Lleryn convulsively, suddenly very afraid. The violent rage in the man's voice was terrifying now that it was so near to them; heart pounding, she felt Lleryn grab onto her, too, both of them tense and alert to the noises outside.

'_You don' - deserve - to - BE here!_' cried the man, each word punctuated by a sharp thump of something on the door. '_Come - out - and - FIGHT!_'

The sound of splintering wood almost stopped Margot's heart - the door was breached, he was going to enter! But before she could move, Lleryn had leapt to his feet, crossing the room in two strides with no regard for his barely-healed limbs.

'Lleryn!' she gibbered in horror, scrambling up and out into the hall after him -

There was a whoosh of unearthly wind past her, and the snow-encrusted man who stood outside the shattered door cried out as a spectral shape whirled around him, almost making him fall again.

'Leave this place, _now_!' Lleryn roared, his voice vibrant with unbendable authority, hands balled into fists.

'Aaaargh! Filthy bastard grey-skin! Get your dirty magic away from me! I'll - I'll -'

With a snarl, Lleryn raised one fist, and within it bloomed an orange burst of flame, searing-hot and bright enough to illuminate the whole entryway. Margot stared in frozen shock as he threw out his arm, sending forth a stream of roiling fire from the very palm of his hand. He looked fearsome and dangerous as any daedric apparation, mouth snarling and red eyes reflecting the fire that swirled about him. The gout of flame melted the snow directly at the intruder's feet, sending it up in clouds of hot hissing vapour. The man squealed in terror, suddenly stone-cold sober, falling over himself several times before he could scramble away up the stairs, still shrieking. Then, the fire was gone, and the vengeful-looking spirit nowhere to be seen, and all was dark and still again.

Lleryn sighed, sagging tiredly, and prodded some fallen fragments of the door with his foot. 'Idiot n'wah. Suppose it was only a matter of time...'

Margot slowly came towards him, still rather shaken.

'How...how did you do that?' she breathed. 'You...'

He shrugged one shoulder. 'I'd have preferred not to have to resort to fire, but he was halfway into the house,' he replied. 'Usually the worst they do is piss on our doorsteps every night. Either way, it looks as though I'll be busy fixing things tomorrow...'

Margot looked at him anxiously. 'Don't you think you need to rest a bit?'

'I'm feeling much stronger now, I'll be fine,' he answered. 'My arms might still be a little stiff, but I had full use of my magicka, didn't I?' He smiled, then cleared his throat. 'Er...I'm sorry if I spoke harshly to you, before. I truly am grateful for everything you've done. I'm just...not very used that sort of kindness.' He shot a glance her way. 'You're not too angry with me, are you?'

Margot smiled back, laying a hand upon his wiry arm. 'Of course not,' she assured him. 'In fact, I'm not angry at all.'

For the first time, she heard Lleryn chuckle - it was just a low breath of laughter, barely there, but still very sincere, his intimidating face now brightened with mirth. He looked so different when he wasn't glowering, and his eyes were crinkled in merriment. Margot gazed up at him, very much taken by surprise -

'That one! It was that one, over there!' a shaken, accusatory voice spoke somewhere outside.

They turned about as one; there, coming down the steps, was Stone-Fist again, but this time accompanied by a tired figure clad in the armour of a city guard.

'Oh, gods...' whispered Lleryn. 'This isn't good.'

* * *

_A/N: Read & review! :)_


	6. Chapter 5: Penance

It was well into the night, and a chill wind still whipped at the snowdrifts lining the Grey Quarter, but in doorways and upon stone steps were gathered some of the Dunmer residents of Windhelm, their red eyes shining balefully in the torchlight. Having been drawn into the streets by the commotion that had happened earlier, they now stood watching in eerie silence as the city guardsman addressed Lleryn Serathis across the wreckage of his door. The man beside him, whose face was well-known and much maligned in this area, had the angry belligerance of one shocked too soon out of a drunken haze and now seeking retribution in ill temper.

'This citizen tells me that you attacked him with magic and fire-spells,' the guardsman was saying. 'What do you have to say for yourself?'

'Why don't you ask my front door what happened?' growled Lleryn tetchily. 'Not that there's much left of it, after this mead-soaked fetcher decided to smash it to pieces.'

Rolff swelled in outrage. 'What did you call me?' he hissed, starting forward, but the guard put a steady hand upon his shoulder.

'Easy, Rolff...let the elf speak.' He turned back to Lleryn. 'So are you or are you not responsible for attacking this citizen?'

Lleryn glared at him. 'I never touched the man. I only meant to scare him off - if I had wanted to roast him like a horker then I assure you he would not be standing here...'

'He threw a great column of fire right at me!' protested Rolff. 'Look at my bootcaps! Blackened to a crisp! And that paving stone right there where his spell just missed me - _look at it_!'

They all turned their gazes to the ground, and Margot, who had been hovering in the shadows behind Lleryn, peered around him to see.

The stone was completely empty of snow, which clearly displayed the soot-black star shape of a strong blast of fire. 'See that?' Rolff blustered. 'That's powerful, dangerous magic, that is! Used against a Nord in his own city!'

There was a grumble from the guard. 'This is a very serious matter, it seems,' he spoke. 'Can't have that kind of behaviour going on here. Someone could get badly injured.'

Lleryn opened his mouth, about to say something very insulting, but Margot elbowed past him, into the light. 'Wait just a moment - he was _defending_ himself!' she argued. 'I was there, I saw it all! That man came shuffling drunk through the streets shouting all kinds of horrible things, and then got so worked up that he tried to break in and attack us!'

Rolff stared at her in shock, and behind his helmet the guardsman's eyes were wide, too - neither of them appeared to have noticed her presence before, and had not expected such a testimonial. This was not how things usually worked...it used to be just the human accusers against the Dunmer offenders, nice and easy, guaranteeing a quick solution that invariably favoured the locals - but now such an arrangement was complicated somewhat.

Margot stared back, feeling herself colour slightly, for the implicit judgement in their gazes told her exactly why they thought she was here after sundown, in the home of a lone male Dunmer. But their silent assumptions mattered nothing to her now - what mattered was Lleryn.

'You can hardly blame a man - er, mer - for defending himself against an attacker, surely?' Margot reiterated. The guardsman appeared to come back to himself.

'Uh...maybe so,' he answered. 'But nevertheless, using dangerous magic like that is against the law. And a man who has had too much mead is more harm to himself than to others - there was no reason to take such measures against him.'

'But what about the door?'

The guard was silent behind his helmet for a moment, then conceded: 'That was unfortunate. But the elf should have come to alert a guard instead of acting as he did.'

Lleryn gave a humourless laugh. 'Oh, and you would have come running, I expect? Before or after I'd been beaten half to death?'

'Don't disrespect my authority, elf,' the guardsman retorted sternly, and Margot winced at Lleryn's lack of restraint. The fool was playing right into their hands, but he barely seemed to care, so long as he could insult them...

'He's a danger to the city,' declared Rolff hotly. 'Could have killed me or anyone on the street with that fireball. He should be evicted, right now! Along with the rest of these greyfaces! Who knows how long it'll be before they follow his example!' He pointed wildly at the ever-silent onlookers, who still watched from a safe distance.

'Calm yourself, Stone-Fist,' the guard said, sounding a little weary. 'That's not in my power.'

'But he must be punished! He attacked me!'

'Of course,' reassured the guardsman. 'He will be spending a few nights in the dungeons to cool his fire and reflect on his crime -'

'What?' yelped Margot. 'But he's -'

'Silence, woman!' the guard interrupted her. 'For his transgression he will serve a short sentence as justified by law. As for your claim about the door...I think a small fine is in order, Rolff.'

Rolff's shoulders sagged. 'Oh come _on_, Ingvald! That grey-skin was asking for it! He doesn't even have the right to own a house on Nord land!'

'He pays his taxes for it, so I'm afraid he does, Rolff,' answered the guard, and then added privately in barely audible undertone: 'I told you I couldn't cover for you again for anything big! Just suck it up, I don't like this any more than you do!'

Rolff glowered, muttering something about Galmar and Ulfric that Margot didn't quite catch, but made no further protest.

'Now, by order of the Jarl and in accordance with the laws of Eastmarch, follow me, elf,' the guard commanded, jerking a thumb at Lleryn. 'We'll sort this out at the barracks. You'd better come too, Rolff. I mean, citizen.'

'Lleryn...' Margot whispered helplessly, but he gave her a reassuring half-smile.

'Don't worry yourself,' he muttered. 'I've been in tighter spots than this...'

Very much hoping he was telling the truth, Margot hovered around the doorway and watched as Lleryn was taken away, the guard keeping an entirely unnecessary grip upon his arm the whole time.

* * *

After having propped up the larger pieces of the door as best as she could to keep the snow from blowing into Lleryn's house, for lack of anything else to do, Margot became aware of footsteps in the snow close by.

'Here - I'll take care of that,' muttered an old male Dunmer she vaguely recognised from the Cornerclub, approaching the threshold. He bent to gather some more pieces from the ground, starting to stack them neatly in the doorway. Margot hovered in silence for a while before he spoke again: 'That's a decent thing you did for Serathis. He's not the easiest person to get along with, but he's a good elf at heart.'

'Isn't there any way of stopping all of this?' Margot asked helplessly, gesturing towards the door. 'I heard that there were fights in this part of town quite often, but I never knew they were caused by the Nords...surely something can be done?'

The Dunmer laughed gutturally. 'Oh, we don't let it bother us, for the most part. We endure and rebuild,' he told her. 'Most of us came here as refugees from a burning homeland, survivors of natural disaster and invasion. A little petulance from ignorant Nords is nothing we can't handle...though the younger generations seem inclined to think otherwise...'

Margot pursed her lips, helping to clear the last few chunks of door. The Dunmer looked up at her.

'Lleryn will be fine. A few days in a cell and then he'll be let out. It's nothing unusual, so there's no need to worry.'

She nodded, though it was still with a heavy heart that she departed back to Olsa's Unguents, where her bed was waiting.

* * *

'Twelve septims?' whined Rolff to Ingvald, after the bastard elf had been shut in the dungeons where he belonged. 'Come on - six septims and your next round of mead is on me.'

'Rolff...'

'Two rounds! Honningbrew's finest!'

Ingvald sighed. 'Oh, alright then...' he muttered, scrawling in the old ledger. 'Gods know I need a drink after all this...Couldn't you have had a little more self-control, man?'

'He deserved it. And how was I to know he was going to come at me with a fistful of fire?' Rolff growled. 'We could have gotten that elf good if that woman hadn't been there...'

The guardsman stretched, then put down the quill and got up from his chair, pulling off his helmet. 'Well, it's done now.'

'Bretons...they have a bit of elf in them somewhere, don't they? Hmmph! That explains everything,' Rolff muttered to himself. Ingvald smirked, and elbowed him in the side.

'Reckon she _definitely_ had a bit of elf in her tonight, eh, just before you interrupted?'

But Rolff only glowered, his mood too sour for such humour. 'Damned elves...they're leeching everything from us, and now they've started on our women...' he hissed. 'It's disgusting. Who could even stand to lie with a dirty grey-skin, when there are so many good, fine Nords in this place? What sort of low-born harlot -'

'Come on, friend,' Ingvald said, putting a reassuring hand upon his shoulder and gently steering him to the door. 'Let's get us some mead and a good rest, hmm? My shift is over for the night.'

* * *

_A/N: R&R! :)_


	7. Chapter 6: That Breton

Lleryn lay fast asleep upon the flattened pile of old straw, head pillowed upon the worn-out scraps of goatskin that had once been put there as a makeshift blanket. His long, thin legs were curled up, no longer hampered by any swelling at the knees, and he slumbered as deeply as though he were still in his own home.

A few hours after the guards had changed shifts for the morning, he gave a sudden and mighty sneeze, waking himself up with a start.

'Urgh...' he grunted, looking about himself with bleary crimson gaze, and tried to wipe his nose upon his sleeve. This was made rather awkward by the fact that his wrists were firmly shackled together, palms forced against one another to prevent any form of spellcasting.

_Stupid n'wah..._he thought to himself, digging an elbow into the scratchy straw to heave himself into a sitting position. He sniffed heartily; not only was his crude bed dusty, but the floor beneath was little more than dirt and grit, not even paved over. Still, at least he was only here for a few nights...

His eye caught the water tray that sat against one of the walls; rather thirsty, he shuffled over to it, thanking Azura that his limbs moved freely now. If it hadn't been for that young Breton...

Unable to use his hands, he dipped his head low, pausing only to flick away the long black strands of coal-black hair that fell forward across his face. Bent over, he drank directly from the tray as best as he could, ignoring the sniggers of the guards who were stationed on the other side of the bars. Only when his thirst was sated did he sit back up again, with surprising grace for one so tightly bound.

He wasn't the only one in the cells today - the usual ruffians were sleeping off a hard night's drinking and brawling, and near the door a gaunt-looking Imperial was lying listless against the wall. On his last sojourn in here, Lleryn had seen a few more Imperials, just as broken as this one, freshly taken from the rack. They liked to hold some of their interrogations in front of the cells themselves, where the inmates could watch. Sometimes, Lleryn truly did wonder why he had come to this damned city in the first place...

Eyes following the guard with detached interest as he changed the torches, he thought of the crazy drunken n'wah who had broken down his door last night. There was no call for _him_ to spend the night in the dungeons, oh no...but at least Lleryn had managed to scare the wits out of the fetcher with a blast of fire and some help from great-aunt Favani!

His lips tilted in a half-smirk at the memory. Oh, it had been so long since he had had a chance to throw a good ball of flame, especially after that awful rockjoint had set in -

A thought occurred to him and he grew still. What if Margot had not come that night, bearing her wondrous cure? What would have happened then? The filthy n'wah would have broken into his house and found him defenceless, barely able to move without great pain, vulnerable to any and all attack...

A man moved by rage and with strong drink burning up his blood would certainly not have left him uninjured. Or even _alive_.

That girl - that sweet, bizarre, infuriating girl - may actually have saved his life last night.

Lleryn mulled this over, stunned, then laughed at himself inwardly. Well...who would have thought it? Perhaps that Breton really did mean him well - him, a coarse, roughened-up fetcher with all vestige of sweetness beaten out of him long ago. He cast a cursory glance at his dim, warped reflection in the water tray. No, he still had a face that could frighten small children, so it couldn't be that he had turned inordinately pretty all of a sudden. But for what reason, then, had she helped someone such as him?

Lleryn sat back, leaning his head against the gritty dampness of the wall. If he had been in her place, he would never have done such a thing. Perhaps it was simply another quality that made her so strange and different from him...

Margot, eh? Silly, short little Breton, with her neatly plaited hair and milky-pale oval face...but for all her anxious demeanour, there had been real ferocity and determination in those wide green eyes of hers that night, when she had faced the guard on his behalf. Strange young thing...Lleryn found a slight smile crossing his lips, and decided that the moment he was out of here he would thank her properly, for all that she had done.

* * *

Given that its patrons were so great in number, coming in to ward off the chill of the ice with some drink and companionable chatter, Candlehearth Hall had always been a haven for contagious rumour. A tidbit of interesting information could spread between the tightly-packed tables in moments, and for the past few nights the talk of the tavern had been the incident in the Grey Quarter.

If there was one subject of debate that was of interest to the whole city, it was that of the elven immigrants in Windhelm. Rolff Stone-Fist had taken advantage of this to the best of his ability, being sure to show anyone who would stand still enough the blackened tips of his boots, which he proudly wore as testimony to the dangers of "those bastard elves". However, while a handful of true brother Nords like himself were rightfully shocked, not all of the regular patrons were as impressed. It was no secret that Rolff was responsible for most of the disturbance in the Grey Quarter at night, and while few of the locals supported the presence of the Dunmer, Rolff himself was beginning to become a tiresome figure in their eyes. His ranting and his frequent escapades to the slums had earned him the reputation of a troublemaker - one with a justified cause, perhaps, but still very much a troublemaker. Most of those gathered at the inn tonight muttered amongst themselves off-handedly that it had only been a matter time before an elf lost his temper with the man.

'Why am I not surprised?' murmured Olfrid, a seasoned regular who had seen those blackened boots propped upon the table one too many times. A nuisance the dark elves may be, but the heavy taxes imposed upon them by the Jarl contributed to a great part of the city's wealth, and to lose them would actually be something of a detriment to Windhelm. He voiced this opinion to his fellows, well out of the earshot of the braggart Rolff.

'And they say that it's the Dunmer who are the parasites of this city!' muttered Brunwulf Free-Winter, throwing a glance at Stone-Fist across the room, where he was re-enacting his encounter with the fire-throwing elf.

* * *

'But that's not all,' Rolff said to his table of mildly-interested companions, who were in various states of consciousness. 'Out from behind the grey-skin comes a _woman_ - a _human_ woman, who'd been spending the night there!'

Torsten Cruel-Sea raised his head from the table. 'Really? Who was she?'

Rolff scoffed. 'No good Nord woman, that's for sure,' he answered. 'Breton, I'd say - little thing, not tall enough to be an Imperial.'

'I've seen a little Breton wandering about the market, around once every Middas,' Torsten remarked, surprised. 'Dark hair, always looks worried?'

'Aye, I suppose,' shrugged Rolff. 'She was all over that greyface, you should have seen it - I nearly vomited.'

'A Breton...' Torsten muttered to himself pensively, intrigued. 'Yes, I've definitely seen that one. I'll ask Hillevi to keep an eye out...'

'It's a small market,' Frejmar commented. 'We'll find out who she is soon enough.'


	8. Chapter 7: Absence

'Appalling! Ghastly! An affront to our people!'

The pieces of diced imp stool hit the bowl of deathbell petals so hard that it clattered upon the table. Olsa seized the pestle in a crabbed hand and proceeded to crush the ingredients with a vengeful force.

Margot peered around the doorway, apron clutched in her hands.

'Miss Olsa?' she asked, rather taken aback by the level of aggression with which the old woman was preparing ingredients today. 'What is it?'

Olsa's nostrils flared, and she dumped a fistful of mouldering fungus into the bowl. 'Elves!' she barked, slamming down the pestle once more. 'Filthy grey-faced pests, besmirching our city with their scum and slinking about at night with their evil red eyes agleam!'

Quietly, so as not to disturb Olsa in her volatile mood, Margot took her place at the preparation table and began her usual work. When the old woman was in such spirits, it was best to leave her to her own devices, and tread carefully around her. Margot thanked sweet Mara that today's ingredients being prepared were for a poison - in Olsa's current state, anything else would inevitably have turned out just as lethal.

'- the most _frightful_ rumours, they were, about a vile, bloodthirsty greyskin who attacked a good Nord man one night in the Grey Quarter -'

Margot's breath caught, but she hid any reaction, continuing to sort through the jars and containers upon the table. It had been a week since the incident, and Lleryn's unfair arrest - but during that time, gossip had had time to fester and spread, filtering out from the tale-tellers at Candlehearth Hall and into the ears of the rest of Windhelm. The whispers of a dark elf who used fire against a man were becoming so widespread that Margot was afraid to leave the shop for long, for fear of somehow being identified as the woman who had defended this maligned Dunmer. Even though she told herself, over and over, that in as large a city as Windhelm it would be near-impossible for such a thing to happen, the mere fact that the circumstances of Lleryn's arrest had become so well-known in such little time made her hesitate. After all, what if? She had certainly seen that foul drunkard Rolff Stone-Fist lounging outside the inn, spitting at any and all elves passing by...what if he was there, one day, and happened to see her? With Lleryn at her side that night she had felt no fear in facing the man, even with a guard present...but now, on her own, it was something she could never do.

'- should hack that creature's head off and fix it up in that slum, that would teach them -'

She often found her thoughts turning to Lleryn. As strange to her as he was, he had become a very dear friend to her. In fact, the _only_ friend she had in this wretched place.

'- disgusting that they could attack innocent citizens at any moment, though it's always been plain in those horrible red eyes of theirs -'

When would he be released from the dungeons? The guard had stated that he would only be there for a few days. But in the light of the rumours that were spreading, would Lleryn's sentence be extended? Would he ever be let out?

And even if he was, _would he ever be safe_? A sudden chill ran through her, making her stomach churn.

'- don't even deserve a place in this city, either! Ulfric should cast them out like those lizard-creatures, _they _certainly don't bother us anymore - but of course not, the city's already being poisoned by snivelling milk-drinking Imperial spies with their talk of _tolerance_ and _equality_...hah! As if any true Nord would tolerate being put on the same level as those scrounging beggar immigrants!' Olsa ranted on, thankfully unaware of Margot's preoccupation. 'We gave them a place here out of courtesy and kindness, and they repay us with fire in the night!'

Arranging the ingredients back into their proper order, Margot pursed her lips, feeling as though a heavy weight was settling upon her. She sincerely hoped that all of this would pass, and that like other rumours before, it would fade into oblivion once it became old news -

'- not to mention that skinny, metal-pierced rat I caught lurking outside the shop late yesterday evening, great Talos only knows what mischief he was trying to get up to -'

Margot almost dropped the jar of dried skeever tails. 'What?' she breathed, unable to stop herself.

'Outrageous, I know!' Olsa affirmed, still mashing away at the bowl's now very finely crushed contents. 'Like a night-creature coming after the slop in the guttering! But I'm sure this one was going to break in - had that look about him, like he knew there was something inside, and those long bony fingers obviously ready to whip the picks out...I threw the slop-pan at him and he ran like a frightened snow-hare!'

Margot could feel her hands shaking. _Lleryn? Could he have...was he out of the dungeons now?_ The idea of him braving the streets of this part of Windhelm so soon, and during all of this malicious gossip...it was enough to chill her to the bone. What was he thinking? Was he so foolhardy in his courage, in his stubborn self-assurance? Or was it something else - something urgent enough to draw him to Olsa's very doorstep?

Stomach tightening, Margot made up her mind: she would go tonight and find out for herself.

* * *

It had not been easy, slipping out of the shop, not while Olsa's usually deep sleep was made fitful by her outrage at having seen a Dunmer so close the previous night. But, with a great deal of care and much patience, Margot had finally succeeded in leaving unnoticed, pulling her old cloak tightly about herself against the chill wind.

Few were on the streets this night, and the Grey Quarter was almost completely deserted - evidence of the recent worsening of its reputation. Only the odd farmer, struggling through the snow after his hard day trying to till the frozen ground, was to be seen about. Boots sinking a little with every step, Margot rushed down the stairs and around the corner, finding the familiar, dark building.

The door, she noticed, had been repaired completely - the nails were a little crooked, granted, but otherwise it was whole and sturdy as ever. As the old Dunmer had told her, they had quietly rebuilt everything, undoing the damage wreaked by others.

Her heart began to race in mild anxiety at the prospect of seeing Lleryn again. Had he been mistreated during his time in the dungeons? Would he be angry at her, for not having done more to help him? For not having come to see him? For having done too much?

She vividly remembered the ferocity in his red eyes, the rage that deepened the lines upon his brow and bared his not-quite-straight teeth...the reminder in the set of his shoulders, wrapped as they were in faded fabrics of distant places, that he was very much not human. And that, quite honestly, she knew next to nothing about the Dunmer and their ways.

Her hand, about to knock, hesitated.

And yet...he was nothing like the malignant savage that Olsa always claimed was the true nature of all Dunmeri. With a little kindness and care, he had revealed something of a sweetness beneath the tough, grimy, coarse exterior of his. A sweetness that had surprised Margot, and that had now brought her here, to his door, in spite of her fears of discovery.

Taking a breath, she knocked upon the strong new wood of the door, ready for whatever Lleryn had to tell her.

* * *

'Lleryn?'

There had been no answer to her knocking - and slipping past the unlocked door had led her into a hallway as dark as it ever had been. However, this time there was no gentle murmur of Lleryn speaking with his ancestors, and upon entering the main room, she was met with bare floorboards and more empty shadows. The makeshift shrine that had stood in one corner was conspicuously missing; Margot felt herself grow cold with a chill that was not just from the icy draft through the door.

After searching and calling and finding the house very much vacant, she all but ran to the New Gnisis Cornerclub, hoping that he was there, sitting among his fellows with a meal and a good explanation...

'Where's Lleryn?' she asked the mer at the counter desperately, having looked around every table but not seen him anywhere. The mer's lips tightened little at the mention of the name, but his face remained impassive.

'He's left,' he told her shortly. 'Gone from here, now.'

Margot stared at him, unable to speak.

'He had to get out of the city,' he went on, more to brush her off than to give her a proper explanation. 'No idea where he is now.'

* * *

Margot sat listless at a corner table, left empty because of a persistent wobbly leg. She was past caring that she was the only human here - all she could think of was what she had been told. Lleryn - her only friend in the whole of Skyrim - was gone from Windhelm, gone for good, never to return. That the events of one terrible night had forced him to leave...it was unthinkable! Unfair!

And if that were true, then...when he had ventured near Olsa's Unguents, it had been because he was trying to say goodbye - but she had never known...

Oh, Lleryn.

She heard the scrape of a chair, and a tankard slid into view in front of her. Looking up, she saw the crinkled face of the old Dunmer who had helped her with Lleryn's door looking back at her.

'Ashfire mead,' he muttered. 'It'll help you get your strength back.'

Margot whispered a thanks, unable to quite manage a smile. The old Dunmer didn't appear to notice.

'I didn't agree much with Serathis' decision, you know,' he rasped after a while. 'But I suppose he was not the kind to hide in his house just to avoid the n'wahs working themselves into a frenzy at the sight of him. He would've fought every last one of 'em, but Sadri and Rendar convinced him to up and leave, in case the Nords decided to purge us from this city altogether for his actions.'

Margot's face grew pained. 'But he was innocent - and...and I'm sure if he'd just waited a while longer, they would all have moved on to some other thing to gripe about and forgotten about him completely!' she blurted out, but the Dunmer grumbled and shook his head.

'While we are a hardy people, muthsera, I fear that there are some things which are impossible for us to endure and rebuild from,' he murmured. 'That is, after all, why we came to this icy city in the first place, is it not?'


	9. Chapter 8: An Old Woman Scorned

The chill of Windhelm had never seemed colder to Margot, now that Lleryn was gone. Knowing that her only friend had been chased out with no chance to say goodbye or even explain himself made a deep despondency settle upon her; mixing potions and sorting ingredients all day had become almost impossible to bear, especially with an oblivious Olsa still muttering now and then about immigrants and layabouts. Margot often entertained the thought of simply leaving this place for somewhere a little warmer and with fewer close-minded people - but of course, a mediocre mage travelling on her own would be a prime target for bandits, highwaymen, or any predatory animal that stalked the wilderness. Thus she was well and truly stuck here, at least until she could afford the cost of long carriage travel...

It seemed her bitter sentiments about the local Nords and Lleryn's abrupt disappearence had improved her potion-making somewhat, for she now took meticulous care while mixing them as a way of distracting herself. The poisons in particular were especially well-made, so much so that even Olsa had to grudgingly admit their high quality. As a result, business was beginning to rise a little, especially from customers unable to afford the White Phial's fare; this gave Olsa much reason to gloat at the end of the day. Ingredients were also slowly improving, but also being used in greater quantity; it was because of this that Olsa stated one afternoon: 'I need to find more nightshade. Steimvar Four-Toes has run out this week, and his withered old petals are no good anyway.'

Margot laid down her pestle briefly, pausing to think. 'I heard that the Cruel-Seas grow some on their farm,' she ventured. 'They provide it for the Whi-...er...for the other place.'

Olsa narrowed her eyes. 'The Cruel-Seas, eh? Hmm, of course. They would be perfect suppliers - better than that old drunk, anyway. I shall see if I can...arrange something.'

* * *

And so, before the end of the week, Olsa's prospective supplier-to-be found herself sitting by the fire at Olsa's Ungents, looking rather surprised at the interest in her nightshade from the old woman. This alchemical store was by no means the best-known in town, and its ingredients were reputed to come from mysterious sources - Hillevi's usual customer was the Imperial from the White Phial, and thus she held her nightshade and its extracts in high esteem. Nevertheless, she had gladly accepted Olsa's invitation to discuss prices, deciding that as long as her produce was getting sold, it mattered little who bought it.

'How _wonderful_ it is to meet you, Madam Cruel-Sea,' Olsa beamed, her rarely-used smile crinkling every frown-line into unusual positions, which only served to deepen her wrinkles. 'My, it's cold out today, is it not? Why don't you have some nice warm mead?' She waved impatiently at Margot, who was waiting, as arranged, near the door. On cue, she came forward with the flagon, which she passed to Hillevi.

'Oh...thank you,' the woman said, taking it gratefully. 'I do enjoy something warm on a day like this.'

Olsa bared her stained teeth in a grin. 'Of _course_...' she smiled, watching intently as Hillevi took a few deep sips, warming her hands upon the flagon. In the corner, Margot sighed inwardly.

Naturally, it was not simply mead in that flagon offerred - of course not. Olsa liked to use her alchemical knowledge to achieve her goals and have a little more influence where she could. Nightshade of a quality high enough to be used by the White Phial would need to be bargained for a little, and Olsa was simply skewing things in her own favour. Besides, the only additive she had slipped into the mead was one to relax the drinker and allow for easier persuasion - nothing serious, certainly.

Margot had not approved of this scheme, but there had been little she could do besides watch the old lady cackle to herself as she mixed the concoction. Now she watched from the sidelines, writing up figures in the ledger while Hillevi became gradually more and more open to negotiation.

'One hundred and forty septims a bottle? Surely one hundred and ten would be more reasonable?' Olsa was saying.

'I...I'm not sure,' Hillevi mumbled, appearing conflicted. 'It's so hard to grow anything here, and the extract takes such a long time to make...'

'A hundred and ten gold is still a considerable amount,' persisted Olsa. 'Come, now, surely -'

'Torsten wouldn't be happy if I didn't charge full price...' she dithered, swilling the dregs at the bottom of her near-empty flagon. 'The farm doesn't grow much as it is, what with all this snow and ice...you know, sometimes I really wonder why we don't just move somewhere with softer ground and better weather...but I suppose we've been here for so long that it would be hard to leave -'

Through her rambling, Olsa's nostrils were flaring slightly, lips thinned again. Irritated by the lack of cooperation from her guest, who seemed more inclined to chatter than to barter at the moment, she turned her head.

'Margot! Bring more mead,' she called. Wearily, Margot rose to her feet and obligingly set off for the emergency supply that Olsa had mixed together.

'Margot?' repeated Hillevi, blinking dimly. 'Never heard such a name before...'

'She's a Breton,' explained Olsa, with a look that suggested this was a deeply shameful thing. 'Another foreigner, you see. Not good for much except labelling and sorting things, and she's forever disappearing at night when she thinks I'm asleep...sneaking away to the tavern, no doubt, to dance on the tables for an extra septim or two -'

Hillevi looked unexpectedly fascinated. 'Is that so? How odd you should say that!' She gave a little laugh of surprise. 'Why, only a week or so ago my Torsten was talking about the most _awful_ rumour about a Breton girl, which he heard from the regular folk at Candlehearth - they said she'd been spending her nights in the Grey Quarter, with the dark elves...not only that, but she was found sleeping with that elf who attacked Rolff Stone-Fist, on the very night that it happened!' Her eyes were wide with intrigue, and she glanced at the door, eyes a little unfocused. 'You don't suppose...?'

There was no response from Olsa; the old woman's eyes were staring straight ahead, her bony frame frozen in place as her mind visibly struggled to process this information. Her assistant? And those filthy grey-skins? That _particularly_ filthy grey-skin? Could this be true?

The wheels were beginning to turn. Hard as it was to believe, the evidence was there: the furtive absences during the night, the odd, reserved expression when greyfaces were mentioned...that red-eyed rat who had ventured near her very home...!

Hillevi's continued prattling was now inaudible to Olsa, whose eyes were beginning to bulge with fury and outrage. She clenched shaking hands, and stood up abruptly.

'It is time for you to leave,' she said, with clipped words. Hillevi stopped her chatter, looking up at her in surprise.

'Oh? I thought you wanted to arrange -'

'Another time,' hissed Olsa, and all but dragged the woman to her feet and pushed her, still mumbling in confusion, out of the front door. Swinging it sharply shut behind her, Olsa marched vengefully back into the main room, and her thin chest swelled with a mighty breath.

'_MARGOT!_'

* * *

Margot had barely entered the room when Olsa, now on her feet, whirled around to face her, apopletic with fury. She froze; never had she seen the old woman quite like this, not even on the day after she had spotted Lleryn. Worse still, this formidable anger was directed fully at her.

'EXPLAIN YOURSELF AT _ONCE_!' Olsa cried.

Genuinely confused and rather overwhelmed by this sudden displeasure, Margot stammered: 'What - I -?'

'You have been..._consorting_ with filth!' she accused, eyes aflame. 'I know everything now! All of this time you have been slipping away to engage in unnatural relations with elven scum! I give you work at a fine Nord establishment, and in return you sully this place with your disgusting behaviour!'

Margot's stomach tightened. 'What? But I haven't -'

'Don't lie to me! You've been off to the Grey Quarter, and besmirching yourself with the worst elf of them all!'

'No, I haven't!' she protested. 'I was only there to help him recover from -'

'Help? _HELP_?' cried Olsa. 'How dare you! The utter cheek -! I should have known you were on their side!' Trembling with anger, she shrieked: 'Well, I shall not stand for this! Never! If you are so willing to sink to the level of those grey-skins, then you shall _join_ them! I do not want to see you around here a moment longer!'

Margot stared.

'_Get out_!' Olsa barked. 'Take your rubbish out of my house and leave, _now_! Your very presence is an offence to me!'

Margot scurried away, light-headed. How had she known? Hillevi Cruel-Sea must have said something...but how had _Hillevi_ known? In a daze, she grabbed her modest belongings from around her straw bed, stuffing them into the old leather bag she had brought with her from High Rock. To lose both home and work in a single day...! And with barely two hundred septims remaining in her purse, too! Shakily, her ears ringing with Olsa's reprimands - for the old woman was still shrieking at her from up the stairs - Margot shouldered her bag and heaviest cloak and climbed the stairs again, hurrying out of the door with Olsa calling down the wrath of the gods behind her. The door slammed with sharp finality, and then Margot was standing in the snow-caked street, looking wide-eyed and stunned around herself. She was well and truly on her own again. _But what in dear Mara's name was she going to do now? _


	10. Chapter 9: Blades for Hire

The Horker's Head had never been the most notable inn of Windhelm, especially not with the legendary Candlehearth Hall so close by. Tucked away in an ice-glazed street just off the Stone Quarter, it was secluded and easy to miss...but so far that had served Margot's purpose well.

Given that its few patrons were mainly those who could not afford Candlehearth's fare or did not much care for its noise and crowd, the Horker's Head was a quieter, shabbier retreat where none asked questions or stared too long. Even the innkeeper could barely count the coins he was given, so old and mead-soaked he was...but the regulars, who were an assorted group of minor merchants, mercenaries and people down on their luck, never seemed inclined to take advantage of this. It was a matter of mutual understanding, and was left at that.

Many an hour Margot had sat by the hearth, lost and contemplating what she was to do next. She could not stay here indefinitely - that was out of the question. With only a couple hundred septims stowed in her purse, it would only be a matter of time before the cost of bed and board exhausted her funds. And then what would she do? She doubted she would have any luck finding a different employment - it had been hard enough to secure her first job here with Olsa, as most well-paid work here was given to the Nords. She knew she would never survive the work in the farms, which some of the local Dunmer turned to...she was a small Breton mage unused to hard manual labour in the cold, after all...

There was only one option remaining - leaving the city altogether. Down south, the temperate Rift would surely be more hospitable, easier to survive. There she could start anew, perhaps find better work there...

But of course, there was still the matter of travel. With the rise of conflict and civil war in the country, the reluctance of carriage drivers to venture out into the danger had led to an unbelievable rise in their prices; too many carts travelling from Windhelm had been attacked by Imperial soldiers, believing them to be full of Stormcloak troops or useful supplies. Thus, taking a carriage was not a possible option.

The only choice she had left was to go on foot, then, taking the main road southwards and hoping for the best - but for that she would need a guard.

Margot glanced about the dim room, not feeling overly confident about this idea. Was she to find one amongst those gathered in this room? Here and there a few merchants were having muttered conversations...near the wall a ragged Bosmer stared into her cup...over by the corner a few warriors sat in silence, glaring into nothingness...

Margot sighed. Her courage was flagging - there was no way she could directly approach these hardened, scar-scored men for help in this state. But if not now, then when?

* * *

Hinges squealing in stiff protest, the worn door of the New Gnisis Cornerclub swung open, sending a flurry of snowflakes skittering across the flagstones.

'Aargh! Close that door, fetcher!' cried one of the patrons closest to the entrance, unhappy with the sudden icy breeze up his robe.

'Oh, shut it, Arvas,' growled the mer who had just entered, silencing the other's complaining. With smooth strides he crossed the room to the bar, shaking ice from his cloak as he did so.

'Rendar. The usual.'

Rendar stared at him. 'You're back here, then, Serathis?' He was met by the stony red glare of the other Dunmer, who gave a grunt of affirmation in response.

'For a couple of days, like I said I would,' Lleryn answered, fluidly shifting himself onto a stool. 'I was, er...hoping to bump into a friend.'

Rendar gave him a look, pausing in the act of reaching for a tankard. 'The little Breton, you mean?'

'Mmm.' Lleryn's crimson gaze flicked about the room. 'She didn't happen to stop by here recently, did she?'

With a rather reserved expression Rendar busied himself with pouring a generous measure of dark liquid from its round bottle. 'Just the once. Hasn't been back.' He set down the tankard in front of Lleryn with a thump. 'There's your mazte.'

Lleryn accepted his drink in exchange for three grubby coins, and took a speculative sip. The Cornerclub's mazte was always watery and stale from its weeks in transit from dubious sources, but there was a spicy tang to its aftertaste that awakened distant memories of a life he had once led, of the warm firelit evenings he had spent with companions now long gone, talking and laughing with the dust of Vvardenfell still clinging to their boots...

Of course, that was all in the past. In the present, everything was different, harsh and unforgiving. Everything except...

Lleryn frowned.

'Why hasn't she been back?' he muttered.

'Well, why should she?' Rendar countered with a half-shrug. 'Once we'd passed on the message that you'd decided to clear out of Windhelm -'

Lleryn almost dropped his tankard, staring at him in shock. 'Idiot s'wit! What did you tell her that for? I was just keeping out of the way, not leaving for good!'

A scowl of resentment curled Rendar's lip. 'When outsiders start trying to involve themselves in our affairs, it _always_ ends badly for us,' he said stubbornly, refusing to be convinced otherwise. 'What's she doing, hanging around an ugly fetcher like you, anyway?'

Lleryn swore in ire, slamming his tankard down. 'It's none of your concern,' he growled. 'Azura curse it...now how in oblivion will I find her?' The last time he had tried making contact with her himself, that old hag had tried to assault him with an iron pan. There was no way he could attempt such a thing again...

One of the old regulars, who had been listening with a curious ear as always, cleared his throat. This, of course, took some time, given that his lungs were extremely ash-blackened even by Dunmer standards. Eventually, after the mighty rasping had died down, he spoke: 'Atheron heard at the market that a certain old alchemist is in disgrace because her Breton assistant was found to be involved with an elf. I would say that your friend may well be on the streets by now. Or scraping by at an inn, if she's sensible.'

Frowning stormily, Lleryn gathered his cloak about himself. 'I should start searching Candlehearth, then?'

'Unlikely. Where do lodging-seekers go when they are down on their luck?' the Dunmer said.

Lleryn narrowed his eyes. 'I think I know.' Downing the rest of his mazte in three mighty gulps, he got down from his stool and swept off across the room, a single-minded purpose driving his step.

* * *

It had taken Margot most of the evening just to work up the courage to stand and face these hired blades...but all she could do was watch in silence, having risen uncertainly to her feet and finding herself incapable of stepping forward. They were hardened, tough men, used to a life of constant travel and fighting, devoid of the comfort of a home or family. The few who were conversing with each other and not brooding in solemn silence were doing so with coarse words and cold eyes, telling tales of bloodshed and gore. Their axes and greatswords never left their sides, even here.

Some of them looked just as likely to murder their employer as protect them...but should she really be making such assumptions? Perhaps they were honourable and true in spite of their crude aspects, and if she did not at least attempt to converse with them she would never know...

Bracing herself, Margot stepped forward -

Suddenly a bony hand grabbed her arm and swung her around, so fast she was disoriented. In her ear a voice growled: 'There you are, you silly little n'wah...come on, come with me.'

Her whole body froze at the sound of that voice, so shocked that speech was beyond her. Mutely she allowed herself to be ushered away to a quieter spot in the corridor, past the snoring inkeeper and into a secluded glow of candlelight.

Margot stared for a long while at the tall, skinny figure looking back at her with his familiar glower, and then choked: 'Lleryn? You're - you're _back_?'

'I never _left_,' he fumed, appearing greatly annoyed at something. 'I've been just outside the city, doing some quiet farm jobs for Hlaalu. I was going to tell you but -'

Before she could stop herself, Margot threw her arms around him, pressing her face against the layers of heavy, faded cloth that he wore. She had never thought she would see him again - but now...now...!

His bony frame tensed in her unexpected embrace, but all she cared for was the sweet reality of his presence, right here, with her. After a while, she felt his hand pat at her head awkwardly.

'Come, now...no need for all this...' he murmured gruffly, noticeably caught off guard by her reaction. 'Go on, get off me.'

Margot sniffed heartily, relinquishing him and brushing away the unexpected tears that were burning her eyes. 'Sorry,' she mumbled. 'I'm just...I'm just so happy to see you. So much has happened...'

'It's true, then?' Lleryn grunted. 'The old hag threw you out?'

She lowered her gaze and nodded mutely. 'Someone told her about my visits to the Grey Quarter, so yes, I don't work there any more.' At this Lleryn made a sound that was half-sigh, half grumble, and looking up, Margot saw that his eyes were on the ground, too.

'I'm sorry, Margot,' he murmured. 'I didn't mean for you to lose your place and your work on my account.' He gave a heavy sigh. 'Told you you should stay away from fetchers like me, didn't I?'

She grabbed his arm. 'No, Lleryn - don't apologise!' she said. 'I hated that woman and her shop anyway! If I'd never have met you, I'd probably be stuck there still...and I'd never have made such a dear friend!'

His eyebrows raised and his red eyes came back to her, filled with surprise. He appeared very touched, though he had no words to communicate this to her. Margot went on: 'When they told me you'd left, I was so upset...I thought I was all alone here and I couldn't bear it. I was going to leave for the Rift, you see...'

'The Rift?' repeated Lleryn, lifting his head. 'Why the Rift?'

'Well, there's no way I can get back to High Rock for the moment, and no means of earning any gold in this wretched city. Not that I'd want to stay here any longer even if there was. I thought that if I could get to the Rift, then I'd have a better chance of finding better work in a better climate, and I'd be able to save enough to return home again...'

He fixed her with a perplexed frown. 'Good idea, but...you were going to go off on foot, by yourself?'

'No, of course not - I knew I'd have to hire a guard but...oh, I just can't work up the courage to go near them, and I don't know if -'

'Why don't you hire me?' Lleryn interrupted.

Margot stared at him, stunned. 'What?'

'Hire me instead. I would do it for a _quarter_ of the gold those fetchers are asking for. and I'd be three times as trustworthy.'

She blinked. Was he honestly suggesting this? He appeared deadly serious; there was no doubt about it.

'But - you live here and -'

Lleryn let out a short laugh. 'Hah! I would _gladly_ leave this frozen pile of guar dung without a second thought.'

'A-are you sure? I mean, would you be willing to fight? I know you use your fire magic, but a power like that is draining if you have to use it for long periods of time -'

'Who ever said flames were my only way of protecting myself?' Lleryn murmured, holding her gaze with a piercing look. 'I have skill in other things too, you know...'

With a fluent movement he pushed aside the folds of fabric that cloaked him, revealing one slender, legging-wrapped leg. Margot's eyes widened. Buckled to his thigh was a sheath of oddly-coloured leather, in which was stowed a long, ornate dagger of lustrous black. It gleamed dark and deadly in the candlelight, its edge razor-sharp and keen. Judging by the intricacy of the hilt, this was a very fine old weapon, forged in times long passed in a land unknown to her.

Lleryn was grinning broadly at her expression of wonder, carressing the sculpted lines of the hilt with a long hand. 'Its twin is on my other leg,' he told her in an undertone. 'Together they have saved my life more often than I can say. Aside from a few ancestral amulets, they're the only things of true value I own.'

His touch upon the hilt was light, fond and familiar - this weapon was one he had used for a long time, keeping it in pristine condition. 'Velms and Sanib,' he murmured. 'My closest friends.'

Margot could barely imagine how he had come into possession of such fine weapons, but she did not care - what was important was that he was here now and, most of all. he was offerring to accompany her away from here. For once, there was a sudden ray of hope brightening the horizon; maybe with Lleryn at her side, the journey would be far less perilous, and her destination finally attainable...perhaps this cold, dark place could fade into memory, to be forgotten like an unpleasant dream...

When Lleryn met her gaze, the question in his eyes, her mind was made up and her answer was ready.

'You're hired.'


	11. Chapter 10: Farewell, Windhelm

The following evening found Margot in the familiar confines of Lleryn's house, sitting cross-legged upon one of the two thick hide bedrolls they had purchased that day. Lleryn had had clear plans for the hiring fee she had paid him - a substantial amount of it had gone towards equipment for their journey, including all of the supplies and gear they would need. During the day they had visited almost all of the merchants at the outer limits of the city, as well as the more modest, no-nonsense craftsmen who sold sturdy and reliable goods for the serious wayfarer. With the rise in demand for military equipment, and Windhelm being the central Stormcloak base, it was not difficult to find new boots, bedrolls and a simple tent for their use. A visit to the tanner had provided them with lightweight furs and hide wraps to ward away the bitter cold of Eastmarch, and finally they had stopped at the marketplace for food.

Margot looked over at the carefully-wrapped bundles of tough, cured strips of meat, hard bread and other dried rations piled beside one of the packs; while not particularly appetising, she knew that they would probably be very welcome on the long, cold nights that awaited her.

Part of her dreaded this coming journey; she had never undertaken such a great and risky venture in all her life - even coming to Skyrim in the first place had been made easier and safer by the carriage journeys. But now, she was about to set off into the wilderness, hoping to reach warmer, more hospitable places...

Her eye fell upon Lleryn, who was busy packing the last of their necessary items, which he had insisted upon doing by himself as he had the most experience with it. There were no words to describe what a great relief it was to know he would be by her side; after all, he had probably endured far longer, far more perilous journeys than this, having travelled all the way from Morrowind through ash and destruction. Although she knew next to nothing about his mysterious land of origin, it was common knowledge that much of it had been devastated by a volcanic eruption, and many had been forced to flee in the aftermath. It must have been a terrible time for him, especially since he had ended up in a city that treated his people with apathetic disapproval at best. However, it raised her spirits somewhat to know that they would both be leaving this place, and would never again have to face such discrimination...

Smiling, she watched as Lleryn finished securing the ties on the pack, muttering about the need for good netch leather, and then began extracting some small odds and ends from a little drawstring bag.

How kind of him it was to insist upon purchasing all of their gear himself, using the funds she had given him for his service. Any other mercenary would have charged four times the price and maybe even added a maintenance and equipment fee on top...but it only proved that he was an honest sort, who was used to living on a bare handful of septims and knew his priorities well. His friendship, too, was very welcome...

A little flash of flame drew Margot's attention; Lleryn was lighting a few candles around a small bowl on the floor, around which were arranged an assortment of weathered trinkets and amulets. She recognised it as a little shrine, similar to the one he had kept previously.

'I'll be in the hall,' she told him, making to get up and give him some privacy, but he shook his head.

'No, stay,' he answered impatiently. 'Doesn't matter to me.'

She blinked, surprised and rather pleased. In truth, she had always been curious as to what the exact function of his makeshift shrines was - and now she was going to see for herself. Making herself as inconspicuous as possible, she shuffled her bedroll quietly to the wall and drew her knees up to her chest to watch.

In silent fascination, she looked on as he placed a few sprigs of some dried plant into the bowl, lighting the last of the candles, and sending a delicate lick of flame out to ignite the plant matter, which began to smoulder gently.

As the threads of smoke curled slowly upward from the bowl, Lleryn took one of the amulets in his hand and began to murmur unfamiliar, barely audible words. Whether he spoke names or Dunmeri phrases Margot did not know, but the fluent, low purr of his gravelly voice was pleasant to listen to, and she almost found herself falling asleep before he paused, bowing his head.

'Forefather of my clan, my news is this: I shall be leaving this place,' Lleryn spoke softly, addressing someone she could not see. 'I shall be travelling south, away from these cold wastes.'

Margot almost jumped out of her skin when a distant, but very clear voice answered him: '_I have heard you, son of my bloodline. I give to you my protection for your journey ahead._'

The hairs upon her arms rose, skin prickling. There was a very definite presence within this room - not one she could see, but one that she could very keenly feel, filling the air with an odd, exhilirating tension. Was this...one of Lleryn's ancestors, then? To be allowed to witness such a personal exchange was a great honour, and Margot felt herself rather moved by it.

The candlelight seemed to quiver a little, the smoke from what she took to be an offerring-bowl beginning to bend.

'_Who listens to us from the shadows, clan-child?_'

Margot's whole body tensed, but Lleryn replied gently: 'My friend and companion. She comes with me on this journey.'

'_She is an outlander?_'

'She is a trusted one.'

She heard the spirit give a faint grumble that reminded her so much of Lleryn that it helped ease her trepidation somewhat, though her heart was still racing. The fact that Lleryn considered her trustworthy warmed her inside, nevertheless - even more so because he had told this to his ancestor-spirit.

'_Very well. Is that all you wish to tell me?_'_  
_

'Yes. I thank you for your protection, forefather.'

'_For blood and clan, my right and my duty._'

Then the presence was gone from the room, extinguishing the candles and the smoke upon its departure, leaving Margot blinking while Lleryn quietly packed away the bowl and artefacts. The amulet he placed about his neck, tucking it beneath his clothing for safekeeping.

'Sorry about that. Great-uncle Draren is a bit set in his ways, you see,' Lleryn told her apologetically, once he had finished clearing everything away. 'He fought in a few wars.'

'That was amazing,' Margot said, still very much enthralled by this new and unfamiliar experience. 'I had no idea how close your people are with your ancestors...'

He shrugged silently, making a face that she had learned to recognise as a rarely-used expression of bashfullness.

'Well, we're not in the habit of just sticking them in the ground and forgetting about them like they do here,' he murmured. 'Our funeral rites are different. And each year in the tombs we participate in certain, er...rituals...'

She raised her eyebrows, interested. 'What do you do during these rituals?'

Lleryn cleared his throat, unable to meet her eye for some reason. 'It...it's hard to explain...Well. Your culture is so different, it would be difficult for you to understand...' He got to his feet. 'Anyway. We ought to get some sleep. It's best to leave early, if we can.'

'Oh...of course,' she replied, wondering what manner of bizarre things went on during these rituals that he would not tell her about. However, she deemed it best not to enquire further. Instead she set about arranging the furs of her bedroll, knowing that this would be the very last night she would spend in Windhelm.

* * *

'Margot. Wake up.' A long hand nudged at her shoulder, stirring her from the depths of sleep.

'Wha...what's...'

'It's time to go.'

Opening her eyes blearily, Margot found the room still dark, and the dim silhouette of Lleryn crouched in front of her. He was already dressed, his pack sitting ready by the door. Groaning, she rubbed at her face, wondering why in oblivion they had to leave so damned early. She had been so warm and comfortable...and who knew how long it would be since she was next inside a house...

'Alright, give me a moment,' she muttered, dragging herself with great reluctance from her bedroll. The lovely warmth upon her skin began to instantly dissipate, leaving her inwardly cursing. Still, this would all be worth it in the end, wouldn't it?

'I'll get us something to eat,' Lleryn said, taking his cue to leave her to dress. He had spent the night in a different room, though whether it was out of genuine politeness or a tactful guess at human custom was debatable. Still, she didn't mind it...although in truth the room had felt a little dark and lonely once he had left it.

After she had put on the many layers of cloth and hide that Lleryn had recommended for her, and they had eaten a substantial breakfast of anything they couldn't take with them, it was finally time to shoulder the packs and set off.

Margot's pack was bulky but of a manageable weight, which made her quite optimistic about carrying it; Lleryn's, on the other hand, held the extra weight of the tent as well as a portion of the cooking gear, though the thick straps sat well upon his strong shoulders and seemed to give him no discomfort or hindrance. The lean appearance of his limbs and narrow waist gave a false impression - in reality, his arms were corded with sinewy muscle, firm and enduring with no yield whatsoever. The pack was carried like an object half as heavy, and his step remained light upon the ground.

It was only when she followed him out of the house and up the gloomy, ice-glazed streets of the Grey Quarter that the realisation that she was finally leaving Windhelm began to sink in. Never would she have to see the grim, dark buildings, suffer the chill of its ice or the coldness of its locals. And also, just as importantly, _neither would Lleryn_.

As the sun began to slowly lighten the thick banks of snow-cloud that hung heavy in the sky, Margot smiled widely. At last, they were free - and any road they took could only lead to a better place.

When they had reached the city gates, through which the early-morning procession of farm carts was beginning to filter, Lleryn stopped, turned to face the stony city and the sleeping hulk of Candlehearth Hall, and roared:

'Good riddance, you filthy s'wits and sons of whores! I'd have burned your shit-pile of a city to the ground long ago if it wasn't always frozen solid! Hah!'

A few turned and stared, and a guardsman at the wall began marching their way, but with a laugh Lleryn had already grabbed Margot by the arm and ushered her away with him, through the gates and out of the city bounds.


	12. Chapter 11: Tales of the Past

_A/N:__ Sorry for the wait, lots of stuff has been happening here and I'm frantically doing tests and trying to book plane tickets home - but here's the next chapter completed! And thank you so so so much for the reviews, I love hearing from you!_

* * *

Margot's boots crunched through the layer of morning frost that had hardened upon the road, the sound echoed by Lleryn's footfalls beside hers. Now that the sun had risen, the white peaks of the mountains were touched by golden light, wreathed in white cloud that clung to the highest slopes. The air was fresh and bracing, but with no tall buildings around to channel cold draughts, it was not as chilly as Margot had thought it would be. Her spirits had been inexorably lifted by her new-found freedom; until now, she had never quite realised just how close and forbidding those stone walls had been around her. Now she would never have to look upon them again, and the prospect of the temperate woodlands of the Rift that lay ahead of her seemed to lighten her every step.

She was not the only one in high spirits today - Lleryn, too, seemed far more relaxed, as though a great weight had been lifted from him. He strode over the ground with a renewed vigour, eyes gleaming and the shadow of a smile touching his lips. Margot had always taken him for a rather reserved person...but now it seemed his guard was finally down and some happiness was showing in his expression. This pleased her a lot, for Lleryn's face was far less harsh and stern when he smiled...

The route they took was one distantly familiar to her, though it was one thing to see it from a carriage and another to actually travel it on foot. Now and then they were met with farmers, traders and the like, all travelling in the opposite direction towards the city. Hardly anyone bothered to give them a second glance; most of these wayfarers had seen much of Skyrim and the sight of a dark elf was nothing unusual to them. There were no distrustful looks or scowls today. Lleryn was also aware of this, for he was walking taller, straighter, freed from the weight of judgement. The Grey Quarter was becoming further away with every step they took, and its cold streets could reach him no more.

As they made their way between snow-caked hills and finally under the blue shade of woodland, Margot asked him: 'Why didn't you leave Windhelm before now? Why did you stay there for so long?'

Lleryn shrugged with one shoulder, and impressive feat considering the load that he carried upon his back. 'Didn't really know where else to go. It was a hard journey to the border, and Windhelm was the first city I came to. I never expected it to be easy, so I just made do however I could.'

'Hunting rabbits and horkers?'

He gave a snort of laughter. 'They're a damn sight easier to take down than netches.'

'What's a netch?' Margot asked, curious, and Lleryn looked at her with an odd expression. She frowned. 'What's the matter?'

'Hah...I nearly forget that you're a Breton, sometimes, when I'm talking to you,' he told her with a grin. 'Never had much conversation before with anyone not from Morrowind...'

Margot blinked, feeling rather flattered, and he continued:

'A netch is...well, let's see...imagine a big, floating creature with thick hide and long tentacles...'

* * *

A long time later, after a very enthralling discussion about the floating tentacle creatures that were apparently native to Lleryn's country, Lleryn abruptly stopped, looking about himself.

'What is it?' Margot asked.

'It's going to snow soon. We'd better make camp and get an early night. Come on, this way.'

Glancing up at the thickening clouds, she scurried after him as he left the path and began to climb the small slope into the trees. Beneath the thick branches, the ground was dark but free of snow, carpeted with layers of fallen pine-needles. Wondering where Lleryn was going, Margot hurried to keep pace with him, until he came to a stop at a small clearing, sheltered from the sky by the branches overhead.

'Might as well set up here,' he said, dropping his pack with a thump onto the ground. 'The clearing's not very big but it'll do.' He began sweeping an area clear of pine needles with his foot, mentioning to Margot that they would need some reasonably dry tinder for their fire.

'I'll see to it, she answered, and while he unpacked the tent-sheets she set about gathering as much dry wood as she could find. With the approach of evening, and the branches that partially obscured the sky, it was becoming dark very quickly - they would need the light and heat of a fire quite soon, judging by how gloomy the trees around were becoming. As the sun began to creep behind the mountains, what little warmth it had provided during the day through the thick clouds was rapidly fading into the icy chill of night.

Margot dumped her armful of dry, fibrous sticks in a small pile, glancing over at Lleryn. The tent was already standing, supported by its taut ropes, though it looked far smaller than she had imagined it to be. It looked barely big enough for one person, let alone two...but Margot resigned herself to the fact that some sacrifices would need to be made. She only hoped that Lleryn did not snore...

'Have you got the firewood?' Lleryn called, still busy with a complex network of ropes, which he seemed to handle with well-practiced expertise.

'Oh - yes! I'll light the fire, shall I?' she offerred, anxious to be of help.

'Go ahead.'

Margot looked down at her pile of sticks, taking a deep breath. Destruction magic had never come easily to her, seeing as restoration was her strongest discipline - and in this penetrating cold it was even more difficult to conjure up any heat. But the modest flame spell she had learned back in High Rock needed to be practiced, if she was going to be of any use on this journey. It simply wouldn't do, to have faithful Lleryn doing all of the work...

Margot turned her palm upward, curling her fingers inward and concentrating. It had been a long time since she had used this spell, but she could still feel its unique power inside her, tingling up her arm -

With a small flash of light, a pathetic little ball of flame flickered in her palm, barely strong enough to keep itself burning. Frowning in determination, she turned her hand outward, keeping her fingers curled to shield the flame from any breezes, and tried to propel the heat towards the waiting pile of wood.

However, no matter how hard she concentrated, it was simply too weak to leave her hand. She scowled, crouching down, and held her hand close to the wood instead, trying to get it to catch alight directly from her palm.

'You have to let the magicka flow more freely,' Lleryn's voice spoke behind her, making her jump and almost lose her flame. While she had been struggling with the fire, he had already finished the tent, and had come to see what was taking her so long. Margot sighed.

'I'm trying,' she said. 'I just can't seem to throw it down onto the firewood...it's too weak.'

Lleryn crouched down beside her, and to her surprise, grabbed her wrist. 'Take your mittens off, for a start,' he murmured, pulling the thick hide right off her hand. His fingers passed through the flame in her palm, but it did not seem to burn him at all. Her mitten removed, he then covered the back of her hand with his own.

'When my ancestors trained me in fire magic, they told me to think of the heat of the fire, and its power,' he told her. 'Don't be afraid of it.'

Margot tried to obey and concentrate, but found herself rather distracted by his proximity. He was crouched very close to her, his sinewy form leaning gently against hers in a way that was unexpectedly pleasant. She could feel the warmth of his long hand upon hers - that scar-nicked, talented hand that could conjure forth such powerful and beautiful flame...

A strange rush ran through her and suddenly a gout of fire burst from her palm, blazing a bright, hissing trail across the damp pine needles upon the ground and lighting up the clearning. Birds woke from the trees and took to the air in panic, and Margot was left blinking and half-blinded, clutched by a very stunned Lleryn.

'Perfect,' he remarked. 'Though...a little lower, next time.'

* * *

Courteously, Lleryn had lit the fire himself with a neat lick of flame, seeing as Margot had still been in shock from her sudden outburst of destruction magic. Now they sat around the crackling flames, tucking into their modest evening meal of bread and salted horker.

'This is delicious,' Margot commented, pleasantly surprised. 'I've never tried it dried and salted like this.'

Lleryn shrugged. 'It's not bad,' he conceded. 'But it isn't quite as filling as some good scrib jerky. When I was making my way to Skyrim it was all the food I needed - it doesn't spoil easily, either, if you dry it out right. And with some nice greasy scuttle to go with it, it's perfect.'

Margot smiled, for his crimson eyes had become distant and dreamlike, his strip of horker-meat forgotten in his hands. As she nibbled at her own, she asked him: 'What was it like, living in Morrowind? What did you do before you came to Skyrim? I've always wondered.'

Lleryn shrugged, coming back from his daydream. 'Well...I grew up on Vvardenfell, in the south-western Ascadian Isles region,' he told her, picking at his bread idly. 'My father farmed saltrice. When I was old enough I travelled on my own for a while, though I came back now and then to the farm for old times' sake. We had family in Vivec city, too, in the south - one of them was a curate at the Tribunal Temple, and the others lived around the St Olms Canton.' He heaved a sigh. 'You can probably guess what happened to all of them.'

Margot blinked, feelings slightly ignorant and foolish for her confusion. 'What happened?' she asked.

He looked back at her in surprise, then lowered his head again. 'Oh - of course, the story wouldn't have gotten as far as High Rock,' he murmured. 'Well, to put it simply, the Tribunal collapsed, and after Lord Vivec disappeared things began to go wrong. Then, eventually, the floating rock that held the city's Ministry of Truth came crashing down onto the city, destroying it entirely and turning the whole area into a crater of boiling water.' He shook his head. 'Nothing was left of the place. The impact was so powerful it rocked the whole island and flooded our saltrice crops to ruin. The shock went all the way north to Red Mountain, which no doubt set off its eruption and began the Red Year. In the confusion and carnage, the Argonians launched an attack from Black Marsh while we were weakened, hacking their way through the survivors and giving us no choice but to flee for our lives. That's how my journey to Skyrim began...'

He took a big bite of bread, while Margot stared at him in horror. 'That's...that awful...!' she whispered. 'I had no idea...' How had she never known the full extent of what had happened in Morrowind? She could hardly imagine what he must have endured, to survive the destruction of all that he had known and to somehow make his way to a new country...a new country that had shown his kind nothing but contempt and distrust. Her expression must have been indicative of her shock, for Lleryn added:

'But that was all a long time ago. I've learned to live a new life, now. I still have a brother, who moved to mainland Morrowind, where he lives now. My half-sister came to Skyrim, too, though I don't remember the last time I heard from her. We still have our ancestors to watch over us, in any case.'

Margot stared into the flames. Regardless of how long ago it was, it must have been terrible to lose so many family members at once, and the life he had once had. She'd never heard of the Argonian invasions, though the Red Year was an event she was definitely familiar with, despite it having happened far before she was -

Margot abruptly frowned, straightening up.

'Wait a moment...you mentioned the Red Year, but that happened hundreds of years ago,' she said, confused. 'How can you have been there?'

Lleryn stared at her for a long while, and then his mouth widened in a smile. 'Well, I'm flattered that you think me younger than I really am,' he said with a surprised chuckle. 'Hmm...and there I was thinking I had every decade etched onto my face...'

Margot's mouth fell open. 'You're...you're at least two hundred years old, then!' she breathed, thunderstruck.

'Am I? I'd stopped counting,' he remarked idly. Noticing she was still staring at him, he added. 'Don't look at me like that. Men age quicker than mer, don't they?'

'Well...yes, I suppose,' she whispered. 'But...I always assumed you were in your thirties, or -'

Lleryn burst out laughing. 'Oh, my thirties were the beginnings of my wild adolescent years,' he said gleefully. 'You're lucky you never had to meet me in my thirties...I was a madly wanton little s'wit then...'

'But...but _I'm_ nearly thirty and I'm already an adult,' Margot said weakly, too stunned to let herself imagine Lleryn's promiscuous youth.

He sighed. 'Sometimes age doesn't have anything to do with how long it has been since your birth,' he told her. 'And I certainly don't think of you as a child, if that's what's on your mind. In any case, you had better not think of me as a decrepit old fetcher, because I assure you I'm still in my full prime.' He smugly tore off a huge bite of his horker meat, while Margot gingerly tried to come to terms with this.

She had heard, before, that elves were long-lived...but she had never expected them to have such long lifespans. Though what Lleryn had said was certainly true - in Dunmer-years, he was at the peak of adulthood, just as Margot was in human-years. So why should she consider him any differently to how she did before? It had simply been a great shock, realising his true age...

Margot watched as Lleryn made a show of flexing his sinuous body while reaching for the water. To think of all the things he had experienced in his lifetime...the skills he had had time to perfect...

Shaking herself out of her reverie, she finished off her bread and meat, idly wondering at the fact that she was going to be sharing a tent with a two-hundred-year-old Dunmer for the next few weeks...

_Dear Mara, he had better not snore like a two-hundred-year-old._


	13. Chapter 12: Hidden Talents

Margot looked up and down the empty road that led up the hill, rubbing her thick mittens together and stamping her boots in an attempt to get some feeling back into her toes.

'Lleryn? Are you finished yet?' she finally called out, anxious to get going. In the cold air her breath billowed out in a pale cloud.

Lleryn, who was in the process of relieving himself against a tree in the thicket just off the road, replied with an ill-tempered grumble.

'Of course I'm not!' he growled in embarrassed frustration. 'It's freezing cold, I can't get started.'

Margot sighed inwardly, wishing he would hurry up. The practicalities of undertaking such a journey had been mostly overlooked by her, it seemed...Furthermore, she had woken stiff and shivering this morning, with the clamminess of having slept outdoors clinging to her skin, and not feeling quite so cheery as she had been the day before. Despite the merciful fact that Lleryn did _not _snore, he did, in fact, move about a lot during the night, which was just as bad. She had lain awake and half-frozen, her struggle to fall asleep made even more difficult by the stirring bedroll beside her. Even through the material of both their bedrolls combined, Lleryn's sharp elbows and knees still managed to poke her awake, or nudge her enough to disturb what precious rest she got. When she had woken that morning with the first of the birdsong in the trees, she found that Lleryn and his bedroll had worked their way half-under hers, using her as a manner of blanket. It had been difficult to resist the urge to give _him_ a jab in the ribs for a change, especially while he was sleeping with such a peaceful and contented expression on his face. However, out of the goodness of her heart Margot had kept her elbows to herself, though not without stepping on him a little while getting out of the tent.

The sound of rustling leaves behind her alerted her to Lleryn's return. 'Are we ready to go, then?' she sighed.

Lleryn grunted a "yes", shouldering his pack once again. Today he had half-bound his hair, keeping it out of his eyes while leaving the rest loose to warm the back of his neck and the sides of his face.

'Aren't your ears getting cold?' Margot asked him, for the tips of his tall ears now poked through his straight black locks, no longer hidden as they had been in Windhelm.

'I'll be fine,' he assured her as they started up the road. 'Besides, hoods make me lose peripheral vision.'

Margot rolled her eyes. Of course, always the hunter...though it was probably best that at least one of them was on their guard, after all.

* * *

For the next two days the walk was long and tiring through the icy hills and woodlands, where the sun was often blotted out by the trees that shadowed the ground from its meagre warmth. In places the road was steep and difficult, broken by years of erosion and the passage of spring meltwater. Here the stones slipped beneath Margot's boots with almost every step, and she was certain that she would fall all the way back down again at any moment. However, with Lleryn striding nimbly up in front of her, as sure-footed as always, she gritted her teeth and strove to keep up, not wishing to shame herself in front of him. She did not want to be the useless and tiresome travel-companion, whose sedentary life had made her ill-adapted to any terrain that was not flat and evenly paved. She wanted to be adventurous, full of endurance, able to surmount any obstacle put in front of her. She wanted to have Lleryn's confident pace, his strange elegance even with that huge pack upon his shoulders...

Her eyes followed his sinewy legs in front of her, using him to judge where to step next. The thick furs and woolen cloak she had been so thankful for earlier were now uncomfortably warm, her back damp with perspiration and her shoulders aching from the straps of her pack. The cold air burned at her throat as she panted, out of breath. Oh, who was she trying to fool...she was an unfit, weak little mage, whose short legs were already seizing up from trying to imitate Lleryn's masterful strides, and she would never survive this cursed -

Suddenly the lump of weather-shattered cobblestone beneath her right foot dislodged itself from the already loose dirt around it, giving way completely as she put her weight upon it. Her heart jolted in fear, for her other foot had already left the ground, and her toes, sluggish with cold, scrabbled frantically for purchase they could not find. The weight of her pack threw her balance entirely, arms fruitlessly flailing out -

The grip of a warm hide glove quickly closed around her wrist, pulling her swiftly up again and holding her there until her feet could find a solid foothold again. Margot looked up at Lleryn, who had his feet planted immovably upon the stones, positioned in such a way that allowed him to support her weight as well as his. She panted her thanks, unable to stop herself from sinking to all fours.

'Are you alright?' he asked her, appearing to have noticed her state of utter exhaustion.

Margot tried to get her breath back enough to answer him, giving up on her attempt to live up to his standard. 'I...just...I'm not quite...used to this...sort of thing...' she panted, pink-faced and feelng the burn of a stitch in her side. 'You...go on...I'll catch you up...'

Lleryn made a sound deep in his throat and stepped down instead, then seated himself beside her. 'Don't be a fool, I'm not going to leave you half-collapsed here. We'll have a rest, hmm?'

Relief flooded Margot, and she turned herself over to lie limp on her back like an overturned mudcrab. Lleryn looked down at her curiously.

'I said a rest, not a nap.'

'I can't help it, Lleryn. I'm not as good at this as you are. I can barely feel my legs.'

She heard his soft sigh beside her. 'I'm sorry, Margot,' he murmured gruffly after a while. 'I don't often travel with others. I suppose I forgot that you're...er...'

'Unfit? Woefully ill-adapted to this?'

'No! No, of course you aren't. I am glad that you never had to travel like this before. It's nothing to be ashamed of.'

Margot tried to look at him through her hood. 'Really?' she said, not feeling quite so bad about herself. She made to sit herself up again, but the ill-used muscles in her legs began to tighten painfully. 'Oww!'

'Keep them still,' Lleryn muttered, and to her surprise, removed his gloves and took her left leg in his hands. 'Is the pain up here?'

'Wha-? O_w_! Yes!'

His fingers found the stiff, cramping muscle and began to knead it firmly, so thorough she could almost feel her tendons twanging. 'What are you doing?' she yelped.

'Getting the blood back into it,' he answered, unruffled. 'This will ease the pain.'

Margot sat there helpless and rather flustered, though what he said was actually true - where his hands worked upon the muscle, a warm looseness had begun to spread within it. This was definitely not restoration magic, but it felt wonderful, once the intitial shock of his hard grip had faded. 'Oh, sweet Mara, that feels so much better...are you sure you're not a mage?'

Lleryn chuckled. 'No, this isn't magic. This has more to do with anatomy. It's very useful and versatile, I picked it up in Suran from some...' He abruptly broke off and cleared his throat, averting his eyes. 'Er...does it still hurt?'

Margot moved her leg experimentally. 'No, it feels great now...' she said, then paused. 'Though, er, the other one's still quite stiff, now you mention it...'

* * *

Lleryn's muscle-warming technique had worked so well on Margot that it had become much easier to brave the hills - especially since he had slowed his pace to stay at her side.

It mattered little where or how he had learned his method - though the thought was, of course, intriguing - for its effect upon her lasted all the way through the day and well into the evening. And then, when she slept that night, she dreamed of a pair of strong, grey hands, with talented bony fingers that kneaded life into her cold flesh, while an ash-roughened voice murmured to her like a lover. In her dream her whole body became gloriously limp and warm, and those beautiful hands moved ever higher...

A sudden poke in her side dispelled the lovely dream and dragged her unwillingly back to the waking world. Seething, she turned over to glare at the owner of the wayward elbow, and found herself almost nose-to-nose with Lleryn. Wakefulness began to descend upon her, making her remember that it had been _his_ hands she had been dreaming of...Her face coloured in the gloom and she lay very still, eyes crossed as she stared at him. He was deeply asleep, the lines at his brow and mouth appearing shallower, more relaxed. She had never expected her mind to conjure up such a thing - he was a dark elf, after all, so very different from the human men she had ever been attracted to. But at this moment, with the dream still lingering in her mind and the warmth of his breath against her face, she felt very much in awe -

With an inelegant snort Lleryn turned over again, giving her a faceful of long black hair. Margot irritatedly brushed it away, giving a small sigh. Lleryn was _Lleryn_. Perhaps it was more sensible to leave it at that...

Turning over - while jostling the spine she could feel at her side as much as she could - Margot closed her eyes and fell asleep once more, this time keeping all thoughts of hands and velvety voices carefully out of her head.


	14. Chapter 13: A Rude Awakening

_A/N:__ Forgive the delay, updating may be slow because I have exams right after Christmas...but here's the next chapter, and thanks for the lovely reviews! :)_

* * *

It took several days' worth of clambering up and down steep roads for the path to finally even out, though even when it did the trees all around still remained as thick and close as ever. On their way they passed the occasional small forest hut, but by and large all signs of civilisation had long faded. Fewer farmers travelled these roads, if any at all, for there were no open fields for many miles. Only woodsmen and hunters crossed the path now and then, dragging cartloads of chopped timber, or hauling a hastily-dressed deer carcass. Lleryn watched these rare passers-by with little interest - his attention was always focused upon the road, the trees, the sky above them. They had been walking for many days now without incident, and yet he never seemed to let his guard down. Margot wondered for what reason he could be so tense - they had not seen a single wild animal, and very few people used this road.

'Bandits,' Lleryn replied, later on that night when she thought to ask him about it. 'These secluded, forested areas are perfect for them. The road running through here is one often taken by travellers since it's sheltered and still mostly paved, but at the same time it is not so heavily used that a string of thefts and murders would draw the attention of the local authorities.' He poked at the fire with a stick, sending a small shower of embers into the air. '_This _is how murderers work. They hide in the shadows, tailing their quarry, and make their strike when they are least expected. Then, they reap their reward with no resistance.' His fingers rested upon the hilt of Sanib at his right leg, tracing the designs upon it.

Margot sighed. 'I can't really imagine anyone willing to stay for long in these parts,' she told him. 'The trees make everything so dark, and the cold still manages to reach down to the ground. Even the hunters around here don't look as though they catch much, either.'

He poked at the fire again broodingly. 'I'll be happier once we're out of these woods,' he muttered. 'I'm used to travelling through plains, not thickets...'

* * *

When Margot woke the next morning, stirring in the first light of the sun that managed to penetrate the walls of the tent, the realisation that something was amiss came quite abruptly. Blinking and trying to clear her head, she wondered what it could be - was something missing? Was something there that shouldn't be? The trees around were silent. Margot squinted in confusion, wondering if perhaps she was imagining things, and turned over to get up -

A hand grabbed her wrist firmly, stilling her movements. Margot looked and saw Lleryn beside her, wide awake, his crimson eyes open and fully alert. Even through his loose nightshirt the tension in his body was fully apparent. What was happening? She opened her mouth to ask him this, but he quickly clamped his other hand over her lips, silencing her. Margot stared at him in shock, now very awake, and aware that something was definitely wrong. Lleryn leaned forward slowly, and, with a voice that was barely a breath, whispered in her ear: '_There's someone outside_.'

Margot felt a chill of fear. Could it be true? Had he perhaps heard something she had not, which had woken him? Perhaps it was just an animal that had wandered into the small clearing they had chosen, curious about their presence...but if that were true, then why was there not the usual birdsong in the surrounding trees? Her heart began to hammer in her chest, and her terrified eyes met Lleryn's. There was no fear like hers in his gaze, strangely enough - it was instead a sharp wariness, a calculating tension that showed through the way he held himself, too...he was going to do something.

Margot watched in silence as Lleryn slid himself from his bedroll without a sound, every movement slow and fluent. His fingers closed around the twin daggers beside him, carefully creeping toward the tent opening. After unfastening it, he peered out for a long, long while; eventually, apparently having seen nothing, he slowly ventured out -

'Halt!' cried a male voice from the right. 'We have you surrounded! Lay down your weapons immediately!'

Margot froze, her worst fears realised, but there was little time to dwell on this for a split second later the tent-ropes were sliced through and the hide-sheets ripped away, leaving her sitting there in her bedroll fully exposed to a circle of gleaming swords.

* * *

As Margot sat there blinking and shivering, she soon became aware of the fact that all of the armed men surrounding her and Lleryn were clad in identical armour - _military_ armour, that looked far too polished and well-kept to be Stormcloak. They wore the silver insignia of a dragon - these were Imperial soldiers, then, not common brigands. However, there was no reason to rejoice - the steel blades that were pointing down at her did nothing to console her in any way. There were far too many of them to fight, and Lleryn already had a sword-point to his throat, having just reluctantly relinquished Velms and Sanib.

'State your business here,' growled the soldier whose blade was at Lleryn's neck. 'For what reason have you set up camp in this area?'

'We're travelling! We're just passing through, on our way south!' Margot spoke up, fearing from the look on Lleryn's face that he was about to say something rude. 'We were only stopping here for the night!'

The soldier turned to frown at her sternly, keeping his sword arm up. 'Is that so? Then why, if you are simple travellers, are you carrying a military tent? We have seen plenty just like it at Stormcloak rebel camps! How are we to know that you are not, in fact, Stormcloak spies scouting our position?'

Margot blinked, horrified at the accusation. Of course...what a foolish decision, to sleep under such a tent in an area full of conflict that they wanted no part of...! It was only asking for trouble, and now they had fallen into a bad situation because of it...

'Oh, Nerevar preserve me...!' Lleryn snapped, appearing far more annoyed than intimidated, his temper flaring. 'I'm Dunmeri, you fools! Do you really think they'd let anyone who wasn't pink-faced and blond join their sons-of-Skyrim-only band? Or didn't you know that they barely tolerate the sight of us? Stormcloak spies, indeed!'

The soldiers glanced at each other, taken aback, some looking rather foolish.

'What about _her_, then?' the accusing soldier stubbornly persisted, jerking his head towards a still-terrified Margot. Lleryn held his gaze firmly.

'Do you really need to ask?' he muttered. Margot didn't understand, but it seemed the soldier did, for he slowly and reluctantly lowered his weapon, prompting the others to do the same.

'We're fleeing Windhelm,' Lleryn said gruffly, in a tone quite unlike his own. 'We took what we could and left, hoping to find a safer place together.'

Margot saw the soldiers glance from her to Lleryn, then back to her again, the assumption obvious in their eyes, and she realised what they were thinking...what Lleryn was inferring. She found that she did not care much what they thought - let them believe that she was running away with a dark elven lover, if that would help ease their suspicions in any way. Gods knew it was an easy thing to assume, given that she and Lleryn had been found sharing what was barely a single-man tent - though it was really the convincing softness of Lleryn's tone that made everything seem all the more believable. She had rarely heard him use such a gentle voice, so full of subtle hints at intimacy...Margot felt herself redden in spite of herself, the colour in her cheeks all the more intense under the eyes of the soldiers. Self-consciously she reached for one of the sleeping-furs, though it was only when she had draped it over her shoulders that she realised she had picked up one of Lleryn's cast-off tunics instead. She did her best to ignore the looks exchanged by some of the men, instead turning her attention to Lleryn himself, who was now on his feet and allowing Velms and Sanib to be closely examined. The soldier who had questioned him still did not appear entirely trusting of him, but what was important was that there were no longer any swords being pointed in their direction.

'Even if what you say is true, we must still bring you before the Legate and perform a search of your belongings to confirm this,' the soldier spoke. 'Gods help you if we find any evidence of Stormcloak affiliation upon you.' He turned to the others and barked a sharp order, prompting them to gather together all of the packs and gear, even folding up the collapsed tent. Margot had slipped out of her bedroll, stunned, wrapping herself in many layers of furs for decency, and found herself firmly tucked under Lleryn's arm.

'They have no reason to keep us for long, don't worry,' he murmured to her, his head bowed close to hers.

'I certainly hope not!' she hissed back, though she found that she rather liked this loving proximity, even if it was just for show...

* * *

'Headed to Riften, then, are you?' The tall Legate, a stern-looking Altmer whose gold-tinged skin was caked in grime, stood close to the roaring campfire, behind which some of the soldiers were neatly repacking Margot and Lleryn's belongings. The search had been very thorough and careful, and when nothing had been found they had been surprisingly polite and even offerred to mend the tent-ropes for them. The Legate also seemed like a rather decent sort, who obviously kept a very ordered camp - Margot had marvelled at the tidy uniformity of the tents, and the polished, well-mended equipment within them. As steely-eyed as he was, there was an intelligent, reasonable quality to the Legate that Margot would not have expected to find in somebody whose life was devoted to war. Perhaps not all soldiers were barbarous and bloodthirsty after all...

'I heard that there's a good temple in Riften,' the Legate was saying. 'And the Rift is certainly more hospitable than these godsforsaken northern parts.'

He looked towards his men, who had finished securing the ties on the two packs. 'Since we have found nothing to indicate you are Stormcloaks, you are free to go on your way,' he told Lleryn and Margot, then beckoned to one of the soldiers, who approached with Velms and Sanib in his hands. 'I return to you your weapons, too - they are truly fine blades.'

Lleryn took back his daggers, making a visible effort to do so gently and not to snatch them. He sheathed them both, smiling. 'They are indeed,' he answered.

The Legate inclined his head. 'Your packs are ready, I believe. You can take them and head on - I apologise again for the misunderstanding. We simply cannot afford to be lax during these times.'

'That's quite alright,' Margot smiled, though Lleryn only managed a vague grumble before steering her away. However, before they could gather their things, the Legate stopped them briefly.

'A word of warning before you leave,' he added in a low voice. 'Citizens of Skyrim are not the only ones to use these roads. The justiciars of the Aldmeri Dominion also operate within these region...and it would be safer if they were not to notice you. I regret to say that the Thalmor are particularly...conservative in their views. Much more so than the Nords, when it comes to racial ideology.' He smiled and gave them a nod. 'I wish you good fortune.'

As Margot and Lleryn left the camp, newly-packed bags upon their shoulders, she thought upon the Legate's words. The Thalmor? It was a name she had heard heavily maligned by the Nords, and associated closely with the Imperials - but if the Nords claimed that the Imperials were on the side of the Thalmor, then why did the Legate warn against them in such a way? Were they a bigger threat than she had previously thought? Suppressing a shiver, Margot followed Lleryn through the trees and down the hill, where the road lay ahead to take them onward.


	15. Chapter 14: Warm Dreams

A flurry of inclement weather hit them almost as soon as they had left the forested lands; upon the exposed plains a cold sleet rained down without end, brought over by a northern wind. Margot quickly came to miss the shelter of the trees, especially during the night-time when the icy rain put out every attempt at making a fire and drove them early to their tent. However, it was fortunate that their tent-ropes had been so well-repaired by the Imperial band a few days previously - without such support, the rough-woven canvases and hides would certainly have collapsed in the relentless wind. Even now, with their tent safely secured, the walls still flapped and shuddered above Margot's head, and each stray breeze seemed to catch her.

On a particularly icy night, after a cold and miserable dinner inside the tent, she hissed to Lleryn through chattering teeth: 'How can you stand this weather? I thought you were from a warmer place!'

She felt Lleryn turn over in his bedroll beside her. 'I am,' he grumbled back. 'And I don't like the cold any more than you do.'

Margot irritably gathered her furs about her with numb fingers. 'I suppose you don't feel it as much, though,' she muttered. 'You Dunmer and your damned fire-blood...'

He scoffed at that, insisting that she stop chattering about nonsense and get some rest, since come sunrise the wind would surely have died down. Grumpily she acquiesced, turning over and trying her best to fall asleep, with the longing thought of sunlight kept firmly in her mind.

* * *

Margot woke shivering at an unknown hour of night, unable to feel anything but a bone-deep ache of cold in her hands and feet. She had never been so freezing and tired and miserable, her nose damp and painfully numb, and her discomfort too great for her to even fall asleep. There was no way to relax her frozen, tense limbs, and even the furs did nothing to warm the deep chill of her body. She lay there shivering for a good while, until she felt a hand give her shoulder a little shake. Lleryn, it seemed, was no more asleep than she was, probably having been wakened by her incessant quivering. Over the flapping of the tent-walls she heard him mutter groggily: 'Don't you dare freeze to death on my watch. Get yourself in my bedroll.'

'Wha...?' Margot whispered through chattering teeth.

'We'll both stay warmer,' he grunted. 'Come over here, now.'

Slowly, with great difficulty, she dragged herself out of her roll, uncurling stiff limbs and feeling around for Lleryn. If she had been a little warmer, she might have blushed a little, but at this moment she was far too cold and exhausted to even care. Trembling in the bitter air, she clumsily slid herself in beside him where he had made room for her. His furs were far warmer than her own, even if the space inside was a little crowded by long, bony limbs. Margot lay in bliss as her frozen skin began to get some feeling back into it, ignoring Lleryn's grumbles about her cold toes against his legs. The warmth was slowly sinking into her flesh, so lovely and comforting, and while Lleryn's furs smelled rather headily of unwashed Dunmer, Margot found she didn't mind it so much. Gathering them about her - and almost suffocating Lleryn in the process, for which she apologised - she closed her eyes and finally went to sleep.

* * *

When sunlight began to glow through the walls of the tent, now more or less still after the windy night, Lleryn stirred in shallow sleep inside the over-stuffed bedroll, luxuriously warm and comfortable and nearing wakefulness.

He dreamed he was still the wild young lad he had once been, wallowing in the early-morning laziness amid a tangle of limp grey bodies, clothed with nothing but a sheen of perspiration and the light of the rising Vvardenfell sun outside. For an agile, amorous young son of a saltrice-farmer, the world was full of endless delights, and none more satisfying than those found in the eager arms of others. Rich or poor, male or female, rough or kind...each had had such interesting things to share with a lad such as he. His life of dull crop-tending had made him grow wiry and firm-fleshed but also restless and uninhibited - qualities which, as he had found out, had greatly appealed to the strangers he met. Even to an affluent Serjo of House Redoran, once, who had draped his naked flesh with glittering jewelry afterward - and a scar-roughened Ordinator, too, whose tough hands had been mediated by the sweetness with which he called him his "little scrib". But regardless of who it was that shared with him such pleasing moments, the best part of it by far - almost better than the act itself - was the slow, gradual wakening after it, when his limbs were limp and the gentle breath of his bedmate was warm against his skin...

Lleryn stirred as a pleasurable ache spread in his nethers, bringing him slowly awake. His eyes half-opened, and, seeing the inside of the tent and feeling the tightnening of his clothing, thought himself still dreaming. The damp breath against his shoulder was real, but did not come from a thoroughly-satisfied Dunmer girl beside him - it was from his human companion Margot, who slept deeply and soundly, lulled by the comfort of another's heat in this cold place. Lleryn blinked, shifting his hips awkwardly and realising the hot ache of his dream was still very much there. He was not so much embarrassed as amazed at himself; after all, it had been so very long since anything had quickened his blood like this. Yet he could feel himself thickening lazily, stiffening at an awkward angle in his undergarments. Cursing inwardly, he reached down to adjust himself, wondering at when he had last been in such a state. Certainly not for a good few decades - this land had drained from him not just his hope but the very virility he had once prided himself upon, turning what was once hot-blooded and vigorous to something frozen, sterile.

The forgotten sensation of warm fingers upon his sensitive flesh now made his belly tighten as old memories flooded back - memories of tangled sheets and the coaxing hands of strangers, of the intoxicating joy to be found in his own body...

Lleryn shook his head, bringing himself back to reality and firmly straightening his leggings. This would not do...why did these old desires have to return now, of all times? Perhaps the freedom was getting the better of him...in any case, it was clear that lying here in this warm tent with the unexpectedly soft form of Margot crushed against him would not help ease his condition at all. What would she ever think of him, if she were to notice? Lleryn had never touched a human woman in his life, regardless of the multitide he had shared himself with in his youth. She would no doubt think him willing to take advantage of her...but in truth, it had never crossed his mind to look upon pink limbs and curved hips in a sexual way - the thought had been too bizarre. The lovers he had taken in the past had all been long-limbed, sinewy Dunmer, dusky-grey and crimson-eyed as appealed to him. However...

Lleryn frowned at Margot, the memories of tall, pierced ears and the rich perfume of bug-musk fading from his mind, giving way to more immediate recollections of pliant flesh under his hands and a rosy, flustered face looking up at him. While he found the depth of red eyes beautiful, red _lips_ were something he had never familiarised himself with...though the thought was certainly interesting...

He gritted his teeth, easing himself with some difficulty out of the bed-roll, hoping not to wake her. He was fond of the girl, strange as she was, but that was no reason for him to get in such a state. He was older now - much older, and wiser than the promiscuous young s'wit who would have relished any opportunity to roll about on the ground with someone as different and mysterious as Margot. He knew that he had a duty as her companion and guardian for this journey, and to let his physical needs - long-dormant as they were - disrupt that balanced role just would not do. It was natural to be curious, but to indulge in anything could very well ruin her trust in him. After all, who was to say whether or not humans enjoyed the same sort of intimate activity as he did? Had Margot ever even had the same drives as his, when she was younger? Did she still feel any desires now? She had never spoken of a husband or lover, so perhaps not. But then again, there was little he felt he understood about humans...

His boots firmly tied, Lleryn stepped out of the tent, the icy wind cooling him - and his loins - instantly. Shuddering, he stomped off to busy himself with preparing their breakfast, wondering in ill temper what in Azura's name was happening to him.


	16. Chapter 15: A Friend and Killer

The walk that day was more silent than usual, which perplexed Margot somewhat, for Lleryn also appeared lost in his own thoughts, glancing at her at times but not making much conversation. Had he not been able to sleep last night? Was it her fault? Margot worried about this, but ultimately decided that if it were something serious, he would certainly tell her. Instead, she occupied herself with looking out at the plains around them, bordered to the east by the tall peaks of mountains - beyond which, Lleryn had once told her, lay Morrowind itself. It was odd to think that a land she had long thought so distant and strange was in fact so near - though, of course, separated from them by an almost impassable range of mountains. She remembered he had said that he had a brother who still lived in Morrowind, albeit away from the ravaged island of Vvardenfell. When she asked him about this relative - equally out of a need to break the silence as general curiosity - he told her that his brother's name was Bralas, and that he was the second-eldest out of four brothers, while Lleryn himself had been the youngest. He said nothing of the two remaining brothers, which Margot took to mean that they had perished as well. She bit her lip, wishing she hadn't inadvertently brought up such a subject. However, Lleryn didn't seem to mind too much, and instead asked her of her own family.

'My parents are still in High Rock,' she told him. 'My old Pa taught me a lot about restoration magic, though he's really a merchant by trade. My mother wanted me to find myself a mage from a good family and settle down immediately, but Pa convinced her to let me go and join the old College of Winterhold in Skyrim and become a mage myself.' She smiled ruefully. 'Except it didn't all go as planned, of course...but I don't regret _any_ of it!' She added hurriedly, for Lleryn appeared rather guilty. 'Those snobs would never have let me in, and I could never have gone back to High Rock to let poor Papa know I'd failed...It's better if they think I'm busy at the College, learning magic...'

Lleryn smiled a little. 'When instead you're roaming the wilderness with a jaded old fetcher with two daggers down his cloak.'

She laughed. 'My mother would have a fit!'

'She doesn't like elves, then?'

'I didn't mean it like that...but even if she didn't, it wouldn't matter, because _I_ happen to like elves very much,' Margot stated, though she found herself unable to look at him as she did.

'Do you, now?' Lleryn answered slyly, but teased her no further, for she suddenly spotted something up ahead and pointed.

'Oh, look, over there!' she said, for down the hill the road crossed over a winding river that cut deeply into the snow-glazed countryside. It was not the bridge itself that had caught her eye, but the small tent beside it with the black remains of a recent fire darkening the snow. 'There's someone camped there! Maybe they know how near we are to the Rift!' They had seen so few others that she was rather excited at the prospect of meeting someone who could give them directions - so far they had been following the broader roads, but they were so ill-used that sometimes she wondered whether they even were the main roads at all.

Lleryn gave a grumble. 'Fishermen, maybe,' he grunted. 'I've had enough fish in Windhelm to last me a lifetime.'

Despite Lleryn's less than enthusiastic demeanour, Margot found her spirits buoyed as they came down the hill. Their approach must have been heard from the tent, because from it emerged the burliest, most thick-armed man she had ever seen. He stretched lazily and impressively, scratched at his beard, and ambled over to the bridge, where he leant his bulk idly against the stonework.

'He must haul some huge fish, with arms like that!' sniggered Margot, but for some reason Lleryn did not smile. 'Come on, Lleryn, brighten up! He might have a fat salmon steak to trade with us!'

'If he is a fisherman, then why does he need that great axe?' Lleryn murmured, his shoulders tense and his eyes locked upon the man.

Margot narrowed her eyes at him. 'You can hardly talk, with your daggers,' she retorted, rather peeved by his excessive suspicion. 'And you said yourself that people need to defend themselves out here. Not all Nords are barbarians...'

She saw him narrow his eyes, but he said nothing until they had reached the bridge itself. When they were but a short distance away, the burly Nord left his position and came towards them, smiling so widely that Margot knew Lleryn's wariness was ridiculous.

'Good afternoon,' the Nord greeted them. 'Are you heading southwards, then?'

'Yes, we are,' Margot answered, smiling back.

'Very good,' he replied, bending down to look at her with an odd gleam in his eye. 'Now, as soon as you pay the toll, you can be on your way.'

Margot blinked. 'Oh? I didn't know there was a -'

Lleryn stepped forward, scowling. 'On whose authority?'

The Nord tilted his head back. 'Bridge tax. The, er...the Jarl says so. You pay up the gold, and I see you get across safely. That's the rules.'

'Bridge tax?' repeated Lleryn, his voice dropping to a menacing rumble in his chest. 'What kind of fool do you take me for?'

The Nord flexed his biceps, obviously displeased with Lleryn's lack of intimidation. 'I don't like the look of you, red-eyes,' he rumbled. 'Maybe I'd rather lop off your pointy-eared head and kick it back over the mountains where it belongs.'

'Now, now, there's no need for any head-lopping,' Margot stammered, anxious to break the tension and realising, too late, that Lleryn had been perfectly right about this person. 'What's the toll?'

The Nord turned away from Lleryn to look at her instead. A slow, rather horrible grin bared his teeth. 'From you, darling, a kiss on those pretty lips,' he said.

Margot's stomach tightened, and Lleryn snarled: 'Watch your tongue, Nord!'

'Your lady-friend certainly will,' he leered, his gaze lingering lasciviously upon Margot's mouth. Starting forwards, he murmured: 'In fact, why don't I -'

A fireball burst hissing upon the snow at his feet, hurled by a livid Lleryn whose temper had now been lost. The huge Nord flinched, more out of surprise than fear, and Lleryn growled: 'Not a step further!'

Face contorting with rage, the Nord grabbed his heavy axe. 'Now you die, elf!' he roared in fury, made all the more angry by having been startled so. 'I'll split that grey flesh of yours from the bone!'

'No!' cried Margot, leaping to grab Lleryn with the intention of bodily dragging him from this raging brute, but with a snarl he firmly pushed her away from him, singeing the front of her cloak a little with the fire that still clung to his hands. Margot landed with a thump on the ground, overbalanced by the weight of her pack, shaking with panic at the sight of him faced with such a formidable opponent. This was no disgruntled drunk Lleryn was challenging - this was a towering warrior who obviously used that battleaxe very often. With trembling hands she tried to conjure any sort of spell she could, anything to help her companion - but nothing came. The terror of what Lleryn was facing and the horrendous fate that awaited him - and _her_ - froze her to the spot, only capable of looking on in horror.

She had never seen Lleryn like this - so full of fury and hatred, his red eyes burning as he dodged each heavy swing of the axe. The Nord wielded the great weapon as though it were weightless, but when it struck the stone of the bridge-wall after missing Lleryn, it struck it hard enough to cut a broad welt in it, sparks flying from the metal. Lleryn didn't even appear to notice, striking at the Nord with blazing blasts of fire that rippled the air with heat and made Margot's very hair crackle. The huge man bellowed in rage and pain, but the thick hide of his armour was too smoothly sealed to catch alight, and he lunged forward through the flame. The heat had melted all the snow to water, turning the ground to mud, and when the Nord brought his axe around again, Lleryn slithered a little, almost losing his balance -

There was a clang of metal on metal, and Margot gasped. In a movement so quick and well-practiced she had barely seen it, he had drawn both Velms and Sanib from their sheaths and crossed them, catching the downstroke of the axe at such an angle that it slipped across the blades, its path deflected. Lleryn recovered his balance, deftly tossing Sanib into his left hand and covering the ground with a hot burst of fire, flaming it bone-dry. The Nord howled at having been thwarted thus, and swung again with a deadly vengeance. But with Velms and Sanib grasped in his long hands, Lleryn fought back with a deft talent that Margot had never expected. His rage was great, but fearsomely controlled - his body was tense and poised to strike, the daggers moving with coordinated precision through the air, fluid and every bit as formidable as that gigantic axe. The Nord, for all his musculature, was bulky and slow-moving, while Lleryn's slender, tensile form was quick and light, ruthlessly agile. Margot found her eyes locked on the movement of his arms, trying to follow the sharp dance of the daggers, but he moved so quickly that she could only see them when they struck, cutting bright welts in the Nord's exposed arms and wrists. He meant to tire the hulking man, to weaken the swing of his weapon, but the Nord's frustration at being unable to hit Lleryn was adding a mad power to his rage, and he lashed out harder than ever. Lleryn only just managed to block one swing, which still managed to glance off his arm and distract him, catching him unawares when the Nord swung out a heavy boot and knocked him to the ground. But before the axe could split his skull, Lleryn rolled and was swiftly on his feet, and then he was behind the Nord, Velms and Sanib catching the sunlight -

Margot covered her mouth with both hands, unable to tear her gaze away as Lleryn drew his blades smoothly, deeply across the Nord's thick neck, the movement disturbingly drawn out and viscerally elegant.

Blood steamed upon the snow as far as Margot as the man gurgled, dropping his sword, struggling uselessly against the elf behind him, whose years of hard labour had toughened his wiry sinews. He sank to the ground, Lleryn still on top of him with a terrifying expression of cold satisfaction upon his face, still dragging Velms and Sanib in their opposite directions. Finally he slashed them upward, sending a squirt of red into the air, and shoved the dead Nord to the ground, straightening up. Margot said nothing, fearing what would happen if she opened her mouth. She was relieved yes, but it was a relief shadowed by horror - not only at what she had seen, but at that strangely well-practiced movement Lleryn had used when killing the man. She looked at her companion now, his familiar grey face spattered with red, his hair falling loose and wild on either side of it. Where did he learn to fight so well? He had told her he was proficient with his daggers, but she had never expected such ruthless talent...perhaps she truly was naive.

Lleryn had wiped Velms and Sanib clean and sheathed them again, but had not approached her, staying where he was beside the Nord's still-quivering body. She stared back at him, eyes wide.

'I did say that you were always too trusting for your own good,' he murmured quietly, scrubbing his blood-soaked hands on the Nord's tunic.

Margot said nothing, still in shock. Lleryn raised his crimson eyes to hers. 'Are you afraid of me, now that you've seen what I am capable of?' he asked.

'Where did you learn to...to do that?' Margot whispered, finding her voice. Lleryn looked down at the body, hands resting upon his daggers.

'In my youth I...was once involved with the Morag Tong,' he told her in a soft voice.

'What's the Morag Tong?'

Lleryn closed his eyes and shook his head. 'It doesn't matter,' he murmured. 'It was a very long time ago, anyway.' He looked back at her. 'I warned you that I was not a nice person, Margot. We are different in many, many ways.'

'I know that,' she murmured.

Slowly, as though very tired, he straightened up, and his gaze upon her was very direct and steady. 'Do you know, now, that I would kill for you, too?' he told her, low and hoarse.

Margot looked back at him, standing there with blood on his face and his hands, a tall and strange and frightening creature...but she knew what he said was true. To her he was still Lleryn, still the same elf she had so desperately wanted to help. Even though she had just seen with her own eyes that he was fully capable of the bloodthirsty viciousness the people of Windhelm had so long accused his race of, he had fought in defence of the pair of them and she saw no evil in that. He was her companion, and she was not afraid of him.

'You're hurt,' she murmured, approaching him slowly, for he seemed not to have noticed that some of the blood streaking his skin was his own. Lleryn didn't take his eyes off her, and when she was in front of him he gripped her arm. He was still tense from the fight, and she could almost feel the fire tingling upon his palm.

'Margot -' he began in a stern voice, but she clasped his hands in hers and brought forth the strongest healing spell she could muster, letting him know without words that she cared for him regardless of what he thought. Lleryn's breath caught, taken by surprise, his cuts closing and lost skin regrowing beneath the layer of grime and gore.

'Keep still,' she whispered.

He let out a low sigh, the spell now a physical glow over his flesh, relaxing every muscle and making him sink slowly to the ground. Margot followed him down, moving her hand to his temples. 'You need to rest,' she told him, and gently covered his eyes with her palm. Lleryn's lips parted, but she reassured him: 'I'll keep watch. I'll be here.'

When he finally surrendered to sleep, she removed her palm from his eyes, her hand lingering on one side of his face and gently tracing the line at the corner of his mouth. Poor Lleryn...he was wiser to the ugliness of the world and she didn't envy him for it. But there was kindness, too, and she wanted him to know that as well. Smoothing back his lank hair, she bent to kiss his warm grey cheek, for she knew she would never have the courage to do so while he was awake. With a glance up at the gradually darkening sky, Margot got to her feet and pulled Lleryn's limp form, slowly but surely, into the empty, waiting tent where he could rest and heal.


	17. Chapter 16: Benefactor

For the remainder of the evening Margot occupied herself with Lleryn, heaving over the pack he had left on the ground and bringing out one of the pans, which she filled with river-water and put to boil. Lleryn still slept soundly in the Nord's tent, as she had wrapped him in the thick fur blanketing she had found there.

Margot glanced over at the road, where the dark shape of the corpse still lay. A few brave foxes were already slinking through the grasses, drawn by the scent of the blood pooled upon the stones. She straightened up, starting forward quickly and making them scurry off. Of course, in this unusual cold there would certainly be larger, fiercer creatures just as hungry that would be attracted here for an easy meal. Glancing around over the darkening plains, Margot rolled up her sleeves and resolutely approached the body. She seized it by one leg and began to drag it across the ground, stomach turning at the sight of the gaping, black slit that had opened the man's throat, but there was no pause in her pace as she heaved the dead Nord towards the steep river-bank. It took a great effort and a mighty push, but she succeeded in rolling the body away down to the river, where it landed with a heavy splash to be carried off for the slaughterfish to feed on instead.

Panting from her exertion, Margot returned to sweep fresh snow over the bloodstains that were still visible even in the fading light, by which time her water had been nicely boiled and she could turn her attention back to Lleryn.

* * *

Lleryn slept on while she cleaned the blood from his newly-healed skin with a water-soaked rag, stripping him to his leggings and tugging off his worn boots. She arranged his bony limbs as necessary, busying herself with gently removing the dried blood that encrusted them. The cloth made its careful way around a few scabs best left untouched, scrubbing laboriously at every crook and crevice until he gleamed in the light of her small lantern.

She noticed the jagged shadow of an old, deep scar that cut across his upper arm, puckering the flesh where it had been badly healed. She mopped at the drawn skin, feeling the roughness of it beneath the cloth. Such a wound was too old for her to do anything about now; perhaps, Margot thought drily, it was even older than she was. Either way, she had never heard him complain of it, or seen any hindrance of the limb's flexion and extension. With a little sigh she dropped the cloth into the water bowl and proceeded to dry her friend thoroughly, cleaning away the last of the dirt. Such blemishes upon his body were not ugly to her - they were a part of his very person, seeing as he had come from a distant place wracked with hardship. A few scars, even as bad as the one upon his arm, were only to be expected.

Margot observed that Lleryn's hair was still filthy and matted with blood, so she carefully untied it and sat behind him, propping his head up with a roll of loose hide. He would not mind this small favour - though even if he did, it was for his own good. His wild black locks felt heavy and lank in her hands, and when she brought another bowl to wash them, they quickly turned the water murky. Margot worked to untangle the knots and stiff clumps of dried blood, trying not to pull at his scalp too much. After a change of water and a good half hour of work, Lleryn's hair was a glossy, liquid black mass running smooth between her fingers. Had he always had such luxuriant and silky hair? She gathered it into a long tail, teasing out the strands that had become caught in the gleaming rows of metal rings that pierced his pointed ears. Lleryn mumbled incoherently in his sleep while she gently wrung out and dried his black locks with a clean rag, leaving briefly to tip out the used water bowls. When she returned he had already turned over, arms and legs taking up all the space in the tent. At his thighs the dagger-sheaths of Velms and Sanib held their weapons with their gleaming hilts, still flecked black with blood. Margot hadn't dared to touch them. How many throats had the pair of them slit, guided by Lleryn's quick hands? Their blades had always been well-polished, leaving no trace of the blood they had drawn. Margot carefully rearranged Lleryn's arms and legs, tucking a thick blanket around him. She hoped he would sleep until morning; that would give him plenty of time to recover, and to chase away that wild rage that she had seen in his eyes today. Unrolling her own bedroll beside him, Margot decided to take an early night, too, and, after checking his sealed wounds one more time, lay herself down to sleep.

* * *

'We'll eat well, for the next few days,' Lleryn commented quietly the next morning, busy rummaging through the various satchels he had found near the tent. 'It seems that big ugly n'wah took more than just gold as his "toll"...there's enough salted fish and venison to last us at least two weeks, here. _And_ I found some good leather boots.'

Margot smiled. He appeared no worse for wear after yesterday, and the prospect of bolstered food supplies picked up her spirits as well. He had not spoken of the Nord or yesterday's events so far, except for a brief question about the whereabouts of the body. He had appeared quite surprised and greatly impressed that she had mustered the force - and courage - to move it from the wayside. It was a sign that she was implicated in this just as much as he, and was prepared to support him as he did her. There was no call for squeamishness out here.

Margot was also glad that the corpse was safely downstream, for last night she had thought she had heard the scufflings of large beasts not far from the tent, and now that it was daylight the prints in the snow were clear. Fortunately, none of those curious creatures had dared approach the tent - perhaps they had had previous encounters with the Nord who once owned it - and they had spent the night undisturbed.

Nevertheless, the passings of these predators still had something of an adverse effect on their day, and this happened not long after they had packed their bags and were preparing to set off.

While Margot was carefully securing the ties on her pack, Lleryn looked up at the hill, having heard a rumbling clatter that was steadily growing in volume. Looking up too, Margot saw what was making it - a modest horse-drawn cart, laden with sacks of produce. Ever-wary, Lleryn kept watch with a close eye, but it was clear that it was only a merchant or farmer making their way along the road. However, as the cart neared the bridge, the horse began to whicker nervously, dipping its head and champing on its bit. The snow had done nothing to obscure the scent of blood and of wild beasts, neither of which were comforting to the horse, already a nervous creature by nature. Its instincts were warning it of danger, and the heavy cart it was attached to impeded its movement, making it panic. The cart-driver called out sharply, but it plunged its head, kicking at the cart behind it and slipping in the snow. The whole cart rocked, thrown off-balance, and when one wheel caught a broken cobblestone the whole thing stopped, pitching the driver clean out of the seat.

'Oh!' Margot ran forward, Lleryn leaping to grab the reins of the spooked horse before it could free the cart and drag it off without its driver. While he firmly stilled its tossing head, Margot knelt beside the fallen merchant, whose thick fur wrappings had fortunately softened the fall.

'Are you hurt?' she asked, anxiously looking for injuries.

'Nah...just jarred a bit,' grunted the merchant, whose voice revealed her to be female. 'I'll live.'

Margot stared at her, for beneath her wrappings, the woman's skin was grey as ash, and when she turned to give her thanks to Margot, she was faced with startlingly ruby-coloured eyes. Margot suppressed a gasp of surprise, not wanting to appear rude, but still could not help but say: 'Oh! You're Dunmeri, too?'

The elf blinked red eyes in confusion at the "too", before she realised that Margot was in fact referring to Lleryn, who had just managed to calm the horse by stuffing its mouth with a generous handful of grass. She turned to look at him, and Margot saw her eye linger upon his strong, haughty features, frowning as they were in obvious annoyance at the horse's antics.

'Er...yes, I am,' answered the merchant finally.

'I'm Margot,' Margot introduced herself, helping the elf to her feet. 'My friend Lleryn and I were just on our way south.'

'Felara,' she replied, dusting off her raggedy coat and looking over at her cart, inspecting it for damage. 'This is my annual load to trade at Whiterun,' she explained. 'Got some snowberry preserves this year, and some interesting imports from Solstheim. I didn't expect the horse to panic like that, no idea what's gotten into him...'

'Must've been some wolves poking around last night,' Lleryn said, walking over to them. 'Their scent is probably still here.' He shared a brief glance with Margot; it would be better to keep the dead Nord a private matter, since it only concerned the two of them.

Margot noticed Felara was still eyeing Lleryn, who became aware of this too, having only just realised that the eyes that watched him were as red as his own.

The two of them smiled simultaneously.

'Morrowind?'

'Vvardenfell. Southern coast.'

Felara beamed. 'Ah, a brother islander, then! My clan was from Vvardenfell, too. My parents came to Skyrim from Gnisis, in the north.'

Lleryn snorted. 'I've heard many things about Gnisis...'

'Not like what they say about the south coast, I hope,' she countered. 'You're not from _Suran_, are you?'

'Oh, no, certainly not! Though I myself found it quite a delightful place to visit, in my youth,' he grinned.

Rather lost, Margot could only listen in interest as they prattled about "cliff racers" and the general poor state of Skyrim, though Felara insisted that her mercantile work was growing quite profitable for her.

'My father is a merchant, too,' Margot commented, but before she could go on Lleryn asked: 'What do you trade in?'

Felara's eye twinkled. 'Well, this year I happen to have a special import from Solstheim - I got my hands on a sizeable shipment of sujamma, which is always in high demand by our fellow Dunmer, as you can imagine!'

Lleryn made a sound of awe and approval, though Margot had no idea what sujamma was. 'It certainly must be!' he laughed, casting an admiring eye at the cart. 'What any of us would do for a taste of home - and a fine guard against the cold of this damned place!'

'It's certainly a rarity here,' Felara remarked, going over to the horse to check its reins. 'Nothing like what those damned outlanders always brew. Oh - no offence.'

'None taken,' answered Margot courteously.

Lleryn cleared his throat awkwardly, but the silence was broken when Felara turned and said: 'You're headed southward, aren't you? Perhaps I can offer you a ride, seeing as we're using the same road for now. It would be no trouble.'

'Oh, really?' Margot said, surprised.

'We'd be very glad of it!' Lleryn answered with a dazzling smile. 'A rest for our weary feet would be very welcome - as would such hospitable company.' Margot stared at him, but refrained from saying anything; he was right, of course, a short cart-ride would certainly help them greatly. But did he _really_ have to be so suddenly charming and personable? She had always taken him for a quiet sort, reserved around strangers. That said, Felara wasn't _really_ an ordinary sort of stranger - she already had more in common with him than Margot did. Nostrils flaring, Margot prayed internally for sweet Mara's patience, and got up into the cart after Lleryn, reasoning with herself that it was only going to be for a little while, and that it would do her good to be more pragmatic about this.

* * *

Many long miles later, Margot was grumpy and stiff, her backside numb from the constant jarring of the cartwheels over the cobblestones and her feet awkwardly wedged between crates of clinking bottles. Walking would have been slower, but a lot more comfortable, surely - far from the ordeal Lleryn had implied it to be. Speaking of her companion, for the past few hours he had been chattering animatedly with that dratted elf almost without cease, and about things that Margot had never heard of in her life. While she found the Dunmer fascinating, what she did not appreciate so much was the inevitable sense of kinship between Lleryn and Felara. Perhaps it was only Margot's low spirits, but she definitely felt that the pair of them were quickly forgetting all about her, stowed in the cart like so much merchandise. There were things they spoke about that she had no experience of; after all, they were two Dunmer trying to get by in Skyrim, with a shared cultural background that Margot couldn't even begin to understand. It was only natural that they should have so much to speak about...

However, as both the sky and Margot's disposition began to darken, she found herself wondering, broodingly, whether Felara found Lleryn attractive. Was he handsome, by Dunmeri standards? Margot stared at his face, in profile as he spoke. Hmm...long, narrow nose, high cheekbones, fine jawline...maybe the numerous piercings and the crimson eyes were a little intimidating, but that seemed a normal feature for dark elves to have. _She _probably found them delightful. Especially now that his stormy brows and bowed mouth were relaxed in such a cheery expression...

Margot gathered her cloak moodily about herself, looking stubbornly away. Oh, Lleryn was fiendishly attractive and the skinny bastard _knew_ it. He had probably been bored to death of her mere human companionship, and was relishing the opportunity to be with one of his own kind. Why, he would probably leave her at the next crossroads, and continue west with Felara!

With spirits even more thoroughly dampened than they ever had been by sleet or snow, Margot stared out at the slowly passing plains, wishing that she had been more thorough at scrubbing away the blood last night...perhaps then, the cart and its _very_ friendly driver would have passed them by completely!

* * *

As Margot lay in the tent with Lleryn that night and Felara was safely under her own canvases, she was no more cheered than she had been before. She had overheard Lleryn blithely mentioning his occupation as a "hired blade", to which the elf answered with something that was probably a quip about humans. Margot had genuinely hoped to befriend this new acquaintance, who worked the same trade as her father, and was from a land she was so curious about - but there was no way to suppress the humiliating fact that she was _jealous _of the elf. She felt like a silly little girl to admit it, even to herself, but it was embarrassingly true. She was beginning to bitterly miss being alone with Lleryn, even though they had only been travelling with an extra person for less than a day. The truth of the matter was that she was afraid - afraid that this new, equally exotic friend of his would make him realise how very little he had in common with pale, stocky little Margot. That he would consider his debt to her repaid by his saving of her yesterday, and by the long route they had already travelled together. If what Felara had said was true, then they were practically in the Rift already, and their destination had almost been reached. Margot had been so occupied by this journey that she hadn't really thought about what they might do once they reached the end of it. Surely, she realised with a sinking heart, she couldn't be naive enough to think that Lleryn might want to _stay_ with her?

She closed her eyes, aware that she was breathing deeply in his warm and familiar scent. Why couldn't it just be the two of them, walking together companionably for the rest of time?

Margot heard a sleepy sigh behind her, and grew still as she felt him shift in his bedroll. Then, his warm shape next to her carefully, silently slipped out, getting up and leaving the tent without making a sound. Now alone, Margot's eyes opened wide, hardly able to believe it. Was he...? Had he gone to...?

Her teeth clenched and she fisted her hands in her furs. She accepted that Lleryn was a full-grown adult with adult needs, and had only had her awkward presence for company for a long time now, but _really_! Did he have no regard whatsoever for what she would think? Or had he thought to slip out unnoticed, while she was asleep?

Margot sighed angrily, turning over and hoping to the gods that the tactless scumbag wouldn't make a racket to torture her further. She wrapped her whole head in furs anyway, wishing that she had been born with more magicka, more talent, so that she could travel anywhere on her own without having to bother with heartless, lecherous old -

The tent opening rustled and something nudged her foot, making her sit bolt upright with a gasp. Lleryn stared back at her in mild surprise, crouched there at the flap fastenings.

'Oh - sorry,' he muttered, then deftly tied the opening back into place.

'Where have you been?' Margot hissed, shocked and still very furious. Lleryn blinked at her, taken aback by her sudden ire.

'Out in the bushes...' he answered.

'Why?'

He frowned. 'Well every living being has a bladder, doesn't it?' he grumbled defensively.

Unable to find a decent answer to this, Margot merely flopped back down, feeling rather foolish. 'Oh, of course. Goodnight.'

However, after getting back into his bedroll, Lleryn growled: 'Might I ask _why_ you're so interested?'

'No.'

She heard his rumble of dissent, but thankfully he appeared to realise she was in no mood for conversation, and did not make any further enquiry.

In some strange way, Margot rather wished he had.


	18. Chapter 17: A First Time For Everything

For two more days Margot endured, resigning herself to the position of silent passenger in the cart, until one night, while she despondently half-slumbered amid the crates, the shuddering of the cart came to a halt. Jerking awake, she looked over the horse's head and saw the weather-beaten signpost, and the clear fork in the road. So, this was it, then - the moment to say their goodbyes? But to whom, exactly, would she be bidding them?

'Whiterun lies a good way west, beyond that mountain on the horizon,' Felara was explaining to Lleryn. 'I'll be taking this westerly road. If your destination's the Rift, then you'll want to follow the signs for Riften.'

'That we will,' Lleryn replied, standing up and stretching his long legs. 'Though I think we'll be setting up camp for the night before we do. Will you be joining us?'

'Oh, there's still a fair bit of light left for me to see by,' Felara said. 'I'm a little behind schedule, so I'd do best to head straight on.'

Margot could barely breathe, hardly daring to believe her luck. Felara was...going to leave? _Now_? And...and Lleryn still wanted to carry on to the Rift?

Her hands shook as she picked up her pack, barely even hearing Lleryn exchange pleasantries with Felara, and when he was finally laden with his pack and ready to go, Margot found herself finally able to give Felara a genuine smile.

'Thank you for taking us this far! Have a safe journey!'

'And the same to you!' Felara waved, and, with a flick of the reins, prompted the horse to pull the cart onwards, taking the westward fork of the road. Margot stared after her for a while, suddenly feeling very optimistic, and then was distracted by a large sigh from Lleryn.

Turning, she saw, to her surprise, that he was grinning broadly.

'At _last_!' he said, with such relief that she was shocked. 'It's finally just you and me!'

She stared at him in shock. 'I thought...I thought you _liked_...?'

'Of course I did. But it's only courtesy, to flirt a little with someone carrying a cartload of sujamma, isn't it?' he beamed.

Margot frowned at him, perplexed. 'Sujamma?'

He opened his pack and drew out a slightly scuffed, spherical bottle with a foreign-stamped stopper, the malicious grin on his face telling her it contained something potently alcoholic. 'Oh, this is the good stuff. You won't find any of this around here. This is no watery honey-juice the locals drink - this is the fine beverage that gives us Dunmer our fire.' He winked at her, then shouldered his pack and set off at a brisk walk, saying: 'The sooner we set up camp, the sooner we can open it - I say we deserve a little treat tonight.'

Margot gazed after him for a moment, speechless, then ran to keep up with his exuberant pace.

* * *

The rabbit they roasted for dinner tasted particularly good that night, perhaps because Margot was enjoying it with only Lleryn for company. He seemed in high spirits, too, though possibly it was more because of the intriguing bottle he had set down beside his pack.

'She was nice enough,' Lleryn was telling her about Felara. 'But I've never been able to understand the appeal of Gnisis, myself. Too far north.'

'Mmm...' Margot replied sympathetically, though she had no idea what he was talking about.

'And the way she went on about the Red Year...she'd only been a child then, and far enough north for her whole family to safely hop on a boat straight to Skyrim!' He shook his head. 'My lungs are black with ash, but I never heard any of it ruining _her_ voice.'

'Well, she's gone now,' Margot consoled him, finishing off her meat. 'Though it _was_ very kind of her to take us along in her cart.'

Lleryn chuckled, giving her a smile. 'True. But I'm still glad that it's just the two of us again.'

She grinned down at her bread, very much sharing the sentiment. While there was still some road left ahead of them over plains and marshland, she would definitely make the very most of his company, for it had become more valuable to her than ever before.

'Now, let's see what we have here...' Lleryn said, stretching over to grab the special bottle he had put out. After swiftly tugging out the stopper, he gave it a deep sniff. 'Ahh!' he sighed, grinning at her. 'We're certainly in luck. While it would have been preferable to start you off with a nice comberry wine, I'm sure you won't mind jumping in at the deep end of Dunmeri beverages, so to speak...'

Not sure whether to be pleased or anxious about this, Margot gingerly handed over her cup, which he filled worryingly high with the rich dark liquid. It smelled aromatic and very, very strong, making her wonder whether this was a good idea.

'To our freedom! And never being cold again!' Lleryn toasted, thunking his cup against hers.

Her first sip burned her throat, but then the sharp kick gave way to a heady, deep flavour of some strange spice, that spread a sensation of warmth all the way down to her stomach. 'I've never tasted anything like it,' she remarked, pleasantly surprised.

'It's quite a find,' affirmed Lleryn, obviously savouring it himself. 'I'm glad they haven't stopped making it - this stuff is the lifeblood of our land!'

Margot found the sharpness of the sujamma becoming less and less obvious the more she drank of it, and the blazing fire in her throat more comfortable than anything. She felt curiously invigorated, as though it were warming every muscle of her body, filling her with strength.

'Makes you feel strong as a bull netch, doesn't it?' Lleryn chuckled, noticing her expression. 'Though rather at the expense of your intelligence. Moderation is key,' he advised her, taking a great swig from his cup.

Margot raised her eyebrows at this hypocrisy, but only laughed. So it dulled the wit, then? Well, she wasn't going to drink much more anyway. Though she might as well finish her cup, seeing as Lleryn had taken the trouble of pouring it out for her...

As the haze of warmth began to rise gently to her head, she found herself wishing that Lleryn would speak again, just so that she could hear the deep raspiness of his ashy voice. To prompt him, she began to prattle on about anything and everything, listening keenly when he answered, until the conversation turned back to a familiar subject.

'You know, I'm glad you decided to bring me along and not one of those other fetchers back in Windhelm,' Lleryn told her amicably, his voice just a little loud. 'I can't stand the thought of what might have happened if you'd trusted one of _them_ with guarding you.' He took another long gulp, and continued: 'I mean, I don't know much about what human men go for, but I'm sure you would have been very tempting to them...'

Margot didn't know whether this was a clumsy compliment or not, but didn't much care. Her head was full of fog and her cup was almost empty, and all that mattered to her was that her every limb felt suddenly and gloriously powerful.

'Well, I didn't even need them anyway,' she replied emphatically, her words feeling curiously slow. 'I'm strong enough to fight anyone and anything, entirely by myself!

She heard Lleryn snort into his sujamma, and saw him grinning down at her. She narrowed her eyes at him belligerently. 'You included, Serathis! Don't give me that look. You might be tall and lean and have fancy foreign daggers, but I _know_ I could throw you down with no trouble, hand to hand!'

'I'd like to see you try, my dear little Margot!' laughed Lleryn dismissively. 'It would be a sight to see!'

She glared at him. So damned proud of himself, as always! Watching her with those heavy-lidded red eyes, high eyebrows arched - though his movements seemed slightly less coordinated than usual as he set down his empty cup and made to reach for the bottle again. Oh, so he was not quite as perfect as he pretended to be!

Calling upon the flaming power that surged through her, Margot launched herself at him in a flying tackle that took him completely by surprise, knocking him flat on his back and making him yelp.

'Oof! What are you doing, you mad thing?' he grunted in shock, disoriented and grabbing for her flailing arms.

'This is for making me sit in that damned cart for three days while you made eyes at that stupid merchant!' she yelled, suddenly incapable of holding back her frustration at him. 'Do you even know how jealous I felt?'

Lleryn's eyes widened. 'Jealous?' he repeated, movements stilling. 'You?' He looked so struck by this that it only aggravated her even more.

'Of course, you idiot elf!' she growled, trying to pin his steel-firm arms to the ground with little success. 'You may be terrifying and strange to most people here, but don't you dare assume the same goes for _me_, too!'

For a while he lay there, stunned, not even seeming aware of the fact that she was trying to grab him in a stranglehold, then suddenly a gleam flashed in the depths of his eyes, and he gripped her arms.

'Oh really, now?' he said. 'Not even a _little_ intimidated by me and my power, are you?' He retaliated with a playful growl, and even with the fiery power that the sujamma brought to her every muscle she could not tackle him back down to the ground.

'You're a - you're a _n'wah_, that's what you are!' Margot panted, heels kicking the ground uselessly.

To her annoyance Lleryn found this uproariously funny. 'You call me an outlander in my own words? Well, I suppose I _am_, here,' he giggled, then bit his lip, red eyes smouldering, and teased her: 'Hmm, I do love it when you speak my language...ouch!' Incensed, Margot shoved at him, though it was getting difficult to keep from bursting out into laughter herself. For a while they struggled against each other, laughing and cursing and invoking all manner of daedra, until Margot caught him being quite unfair.

'Oh! Stop cheating, you lanky fiend. Get your daggers away from this fight,' Margot scolded him, groping at his legs for the twin sheaths. However, there was only the fabric of his leggings, the leather straps nowhere to be found. 'Wha...?' she muttered, confused, and Lleryn grabbed her wandering hands.

'Velms and Sanib aren't my only weapons, you know,' he told her, voice lowered, his crimson eyes heavy and intense. 'I have _another _blade that's even more deadly, that I've had even greater experience in wielding, that has been with me for over two centuries...'

Margot did her best to focus her gaze upon him, enthralled by his change of tone though not quite grasping what he was saying. Lleryn didn't appear to notice, leaning in closer to her.

'It's been plunged into the bellies of thousands of foes,' he slurred conspiratorially. 'But my grey blade is the one I keep secret and hidden.'

'Oh?' Her eyes were wide.

'Mmm,' he affirmed, chin tilting upward and eyes narrowing to red slits. 'You see, I only draw it against _special_ opponents...'

Margot had gone cross-eyed, her slowed mind finally catching up with his words. 'Are you talking about your -'

Suddenly she could taste the spicy, heady sujamma again, but this time from the soft heat of Lleryn's mouth against hers.

'...!' she exclaimed silently, a thrill of sensation rushing through her, piercing through the haze that fogged her mind. She had not been kissed so deeply for a very long time, by anyone - elf _or_ man!

The fire rushed through her limbs again, and she found herself wrapping her arms around him, making an incoherent sound of surprise and approval. This felt more wonderful than she had ever imagined - every secret thought she had ever had about dark, delicately bowed mouth of his paled in comparison to the true feeling of it passionately attached to hers. Was it he who tasted so decadently spiced, or the sujamma? Impossible to tell anymore. All that she was aware of was the warm flutter of his breath against her lips, irregular and shallow, his hand tilting up her chin.

'Have you ever spent the night with a Dunmer, Margot?' he asked her, suddenly serious, in a voice so low and vibrant she could feel the thrum of it through his chest.

'Nnn...' was all she could reply, shaking her head, stupefied by what he suggested.

A slow, rather lopsided grin spread across his face. 'Well! I'm going to set the standard very, very high indeed, then,' he growled wickedly.

Margot blinked at him foolishly, then smiled back. She wanted to answer with a witty rejoinder but found her sluggish thoughts unable to keep up; all she managed to say was a breathless: 'Oh, yes please!'

Then he was fumbling with the laces of his leggings, while she tried to remove both his undershirt and tunic simultaneously, ripping them at the seams in the process. Fortunately Lleryn seemed more excited than annoyed by this, and returned the favour by dispatching of her own upper garments in a similar fashion. 'Oh...!' she heard him breathe, placing a long grey hand upon her bare skin. 'Pale as a kwama egg...! But so very soft...oh, sweet Azura...'

Margot felt a flare of heat that had nothing to do with the alcohol rise through her, and then Lleryn was tearing his laces out, nudging her with his knees -

Then, suddenly, his belly was rubbing against hers and the sensation of being shockingly, gloriously full hit her. Margot stared up at him with wide eyes, unable to do anything but hang on for dear life, stunned by so many feelings at once. He was warm and lean and unyielding, his grey hips bony against her inner thighs, but it was exhilirating - even with his long black hair falling onto her face and making her splutter. Lleryn grumbled a vague apology for this and straightened up, raising clumsy hands to tie back his errant ebony locks. Margot couldn't keep her eyes off him as he did so, for it afforded her a good look at the tight lines of his bare torso and belly, the wiry musculature of his lifted arms -

Then, swiftly, he was back down upon her again, moving with a renewed vigour. She had known him to be sinewy and lean, but she was entirely unprepared for the firmness of his slender form, or the way the muscles of his back moved beneath her hands as he pressed his lips to hers. She had to marvel at his coordination, for she had lost hers entirely - soon all she was aware of any more was warm arms and shunting muscles, the pounding of her own heart...

'Mephala only knows how long I've wanted to do this for...' Lleryn groaned against her throat. 'I've always wondered what it would be like...'

He had? Margot kissed him, barely able to think any more, consumed by helpless love. She had wanted this too, for longer than she'd thought - and now they were suddenly in the most passionate of embraces, inflamed beyond belief. Lost in a daze of pleasure and euphoria, Margot noted with some satisfaction that Lleryn _really_ enjoyed it when she stroked his ears...

'Margot...! I...! I...! Ah!' he gasped, sounding so distressed and aroused that she kissed him again, fists bunching in his hair, slipping her tongue boldly across his -

Lleryn gave a strangled cry and suddenly went rigid over her, his whole body beginning to shudder in the throes of an unexpected climax. His grip on her tightened, and she stared up at his complicated expression of desperation and delight with considerable interest, feeling surprised and rather pleased with herself.

Panting, he finally collapsed as though boneless, thankfully remembering to keep himself from crushing her.

'I have been defeated,' he moaned hoarsely, face down, his voice muffled by the fur of her discarded cloak. She blinked a few times, trying to get her breath back and process what had just occurred. Over already? She was stunned. However, she had little time to feel any disappointment, for to her great surprise, Lleryn began to snivel.

'What's the matter?' she asked him in shocked concern, forgetting everything else and doing her best to focus her gaze on him. Lleryn raised his head to look upon her with tragic red eyes that were suddenly brimming with tears.

'I've ruined it!' he wept. 'I wanted to impress you and show you how good at this I am - but I hadn't done this in a long time and you were so soft and I just -'

'Shhh, shhh,' Margot comforted him, clumsily patting at his dishevelled locks. 'I don't mind. It's alright.'

'No it's not,' sniffed Lleryn, inconsolable. 'I wanted your first time with me to be special - I wanted it to last until dawn and leave you a quivering wreck, but I've only let myself down. Maybe I'm too old for this. I'm old, aren't I, Margot?'

'Of course not, you silly elf,' she reassured him. 'And don't talk nonsense - it _was_ special for me. Very special.'

'You're just saying that to flatter me.'

'Certainly not! What a thing to say,' she chided, reaching for a corner of her torn tunic and mopping at Lleryn's damp nose with it. 'Now stop crying. I'm sure you'll be in top form next time.'

Lleryn paused in his sulking and blinked at her, eyelashes spiked by tears. 'Next time?' he repeated, hope lighting his crimson eyes.

Margot smiled at him. 'We will be doing this again, won't we?' she said gently. 'If you're still willing?'

'You...you want me to?' he murmured, eyes now shining.

'More than you can imagine, Serathis,' she told him, and drew his head down for a kiss, not minding how wet his face was.

'Oh, Margot,' she heard him whimper helplessly. 'An ugly, drunken old fetcher like me...?'

'Shhh. You're beautiful,' she told him truthfully, letting him pillow his head upon her chest. 'You've been my only friend here, you know. I don't care how different from me you are. Or how drunk.'

Lleryn settled himself quietly, mollified as she traced the rings upon his ear. 'You're very dear to me too,' he mumbled. 'I can't remember feeling so close to anyone - human _or _Dunmer.'

Margot stroked his hair, stirring only to grab a fur blanket to drape over them. Finally consoled, Lleryn was snoring within seconds; then, still light-headed from such a momentous night, Margot soon succumbed to sleep too, wondering when she had ever felt so wonderful.

* * *

In the first hot light of the sun through the sparse shrubbery, Margot woke with a pounding headache, for a moment disoriented and unsure why there was a naked elf lying blissfully unconscious over her.

Reluctant to move, she simply lay still, fragments of the previous night returning to her. She remembered the sujamma, the exhilirating contact of Lleryn's slender body upon hers, and then, for some reason, comforting him while he cried about being old and unattractive. She frowned, rubbing her eyes with the back of her hand, feeling the tickle of Lleryn's gentle breathing against her skin.

Would he regret what had transpired last night? Had he only acted under the influence of his intoxication? She remembered him bawling about how he had wanted it to be special...and he had seemed so very sincere about it all...

She never would have taken him for an emotional drunk. Perhaps it was the effects of being on the road for so long - and, if what he had babbled about was true, having been attracted to her as well. When Lleryn began to stir, groaning, Margot barely knew what to say, electing to just lie there instead while he roused over her. She saw his crimson eyes open blearily, frowning for a moment in confusion, and then realisation came over his face. To her dismay, he looked mortified.

'I...I don't usually do things like this,' she told him, desperately anxious and flustered.

'Very wise of you,' grunted Lleryn, appearing more concerned with his own aching head at that moment. 'I, er...I hope you don't think any worse of me. I really didn't mean to get so carried away. Or...to make such a fool of myself.'

He reached for his clothing, grimacing at the split seams - which, to Margot's chagrin, she remembered making herself - and began to dress. Silently, she followed his cue and picked up her own scattered garments, which hadn't been entirely spared either. Did Lleryn wish he had never touched her, then? Had she disappointed him in some way? Or had he only been responding to physical need and insatiable curiosity?

Conflicted, she fumbled with her cloak, then became aware of Lleryn sitting himself down beside her. He gently took her hand, the movement slow and light, as though he half expected her to move away. When she didn't, he covered her hand with his other, running a thumb over her knuckles.

'It wasn't just the sujamma that made me want you so much, Margot - you know that, don't you? You're the only one I've come to trust in this damned place.'

She gave him a little smile, heartened. 'The same goes for me,' she replied quietly. 'You always have been my only friend here.'

His hand tightened warmly over hers, the relief clear upon his face. 'I would have made a move long before now, but I wasn't sure if you...if you'd ever...well, look at us!' He gave a small, self-deprecating chuckle, smiling at their joined hands - milky-white and ashen-grey, starkly mismatched.

Margot smiled back. 'I thought _I_ was the one forever uncertain - not you,' she teased him. The mood finally lightened, she relinquished him to quietly gather their things and begin sorting out the packs, feeling that, in spite of her splitting headache, things were taking a new and better turn.

She watched him kick ashes over the last few embers of the fire, and then, once they were ready to set off, he turned to her again.

'Were you...serious, when you said you wanted to try it again with me?' Lleryn murmured, in a way that indicated it was something that weighed on his mind.

'I was,' she answered truthfully, barely able to look at him. 'Very much so.' She chanced a glance in his direction and saw he was beaming, the frown-lines marking his brow now smooth.

'Well...I'll be certain to remember that for the future,' he replied, sounding more breathless and pleased than she had ever heard him. Then, with a smile, he took her hand, and shyly arm-in-arm they made their way onward.


	19. Chapter 18: A Little Charity

'You know, I did actually enjoy that sujamma,' Margot told Lleryn truthfully, as they walked the easy road through the wide tundra. 'It was a lovely experience of your culture.'

Lleryn laughed bashfully. 'I think you got a little bit more experience of Dunmer culture than you bargained for, though...' He gave an awkward cough and was silent thereafter, obviously having inadvertently reminded himself of his impromptu outburst. Margot hid her smile for the sake of his masculine pride, and concentrated instead on where she was walking.

By and by, she remarked with surprise: 'Have you noticed how lovely and warm it is here?'

Lleryn cast a glance at the sky, his face looking decidedly unconvinced. 'Hmmph.'

'Well, it might not be as balmy as a certain volcanic island, maybe, but there's not been any snow for a long time!' she persisted.

'I suppose you're right,' he conceded. 'It makes a change from being frozen, I suppose...though the cold did have some benefits...'

'Oh?'

He gave her a sly, sideways look from under his eyelids. 'Such as having you stuffed in my bedroll to keep me warm,' he answered in a casual voice.

Margot laughed, shoving him in mock outrage. 'You sneaky old - you said that was to keep _me_ warm!'

Deftly dancing out of reach of her, Lleryn grinned widely. 'I'll have to find some other excuse to lure you in with me, now,' he said.

'Hah! Not a chance, with those bony elbows and knees of yours jabbing me!'

'It's your fault for being so damned soft,' he laughed, then added: 'Besides, you said yourself last night that I was beautiful. Thus I consider all future insults from you to be null and void.'

'_Last night_ I was dizzy with that sujamma, O Dark Elven Beauty,' Margot reminded him.

Lleryn's smile faltered a little, and an odd frown of worry creased his brow. 'Oh...that's true...' he murmured, so suddenly quiet and consternated that Margot stared at him in shock.

'Lleryn, no, I didn't mean that I -' she began to hurriedly assure him, but her words were suddenly cut off by a distant cry.

'_Please! Heeeeeelp!_'

Both of them turned as one, looking out across the plains: there, over the hill, a small bearded man in dusty robes was running as fast as his little legs could take him. Margot squinted, but could not see what it was that he was running from, though the frantic speed with which he ran suggested the very daedra were at his heels. The sight would have been funny if the look of terror on his face hadn't been so great.

When the little man reached them, he all but collapsed at their feet, his hands tugging plaintively at the hem of Margot's cloak.

'Please - please, you must help me!' he begged. 'There's - I - I only just got away -'

'What is it?' Lleryn asked sternly, his sharp eyes scouring the horizon - though, like Margot, he could see nothing.

'I - I escaped!' wheezed the old man, holding up wrists looped with coarse rope. 'They had me bound for five days, maybe six, dragging me behind them like some base animal!'

'Who bound you?' demanded Lleryn, putting a cautionary hand on Margot. 'Are you a criminal, then?'

The man's crinkled blue eyes grew wide with shock, and he shook his head so energetically that his dirty white beard waggled. 'No, no!' he cried. 'Please, I'm just a priest! A priest who has minded his own business and kept a tidy temple for forty-five years, until _they_ came!'

'Who's "they"?' asked Margot gently, sympathetic to the man's terror.

A tremor ran through the priest, his eyes bulging. 'A tall, golden elf, robed in black, and four elven soldiers who answered to him,' he replied tremulously. 'They came out of nowhere - someone had told them that poor Brother Ioren still wore his amulet of Talos, though who could have done such a thing I do not know - they came to our modest little temple and they killed young Ioren right in front of us, with no questions asked! Then they turned on me, accusing me of complicity, believing my modest temple to Lady Mara to be a front, hiding secret Talos worship!' The priest quivered, tears beginning to run down his dirty, ruddy face. 'They simply wouldn't listen - I hadn't condemned poor Ioren for his faith, though I hadn't advocated it either...but they trussed me up in ropes and took me away with them, burning my old temple to the ground! Nobody could do anything - even the guards had no power against those cruel, golden elves!'

'How did you manage to get away?' Margot whispered, horrified.

The priest looked over his shoulder, no longer despairing but terrified once more. 'We were walking through the plains - going north, they said, where they could interrogate me - and then...then...a shadow in the clouds!' His whole body shuddered. 'A horrible, huge beast, bigger than anything I'd ever seen, wheeling down from open sky! They flung their lightning bolts and their ice and their flames, but the thing was armoured against their attacks! I saw their arrows snap on its hide! It spewed fire from its jaws at them, and crunched them whole in its fangs! While it was distracted I fled for my life - I don't know how long or how far I've run, but I know I'm not safe alone!'

'You'll be fine with us,' Margot reassured him, shocked by his tale, but Lleryn gripped her wrist.

'The old man is raving!' he hissed. 'Don't tell me you _believe_ him!'

'He's _afraid_,' Margot hissed back. 'He's been half-starved and terrified out of his wits. The least we can do is help him find a safe place. The poor man's been through a lot.'

Lleryn's nostrils flared, lip curling, but he relented.

'Very well,' he growled. 'If we must.'

Margot turned back to the shaking priest, smiling. 'We're on our way south - we'd be happy to help you find your way,' she told him.

'You would? Oh, Lady Mara bless your kind hearts!' he cried in exuberant relief, all but falling to the ground in front of her.

Lleryn made a little grumbling sound, but Margot looked at him emphatically, and he grudgingly whipped out Sanib to slice through the old man's bindings.

* * *

The priest's name was Gralvus, an Imperial by heritage but a Nord by upbringing, having spent most of his life in a quiet village bordering the Rift. He had had little involvement in matters of war, preferring the gentle ways of faith. His small temple had been his greatest joy in life, built from the ground up when he was a young man, attracting the odd passing traveller or pilgrim to come and pay respects to the shrine of Mara. In recent years, he had been preparing to give direction of the temple over to one of his dear Acolytes...but of course, now the temple was no more, and so were most of his Acolytes.

Margot found herself deeply sympathetic for the poor man, but Lleryn was considerably less warm toward him; it was with great reluctance that he had allowed this addition to their group, and even now barely tolerated the priest. Lleryn did not understand the religious squabbles of Skyrim, and was highly opposed to his monopoly of Margot's company being encroached upon. While Margot did her best to make Gralvus feel at ease with them, it rather annoyed her that there was no effort to do so on Lleryn's part.

That evening, as they made to set up camp, and Gralvus sent humbly trotting off after sticks for the fire, Lleryn was muttering to himself darkly.

'Come on, Lleryn, show some charity,' Margot chided him.

'Charity or not, I _refuse_ to have him in our tent,' growled Lleryn. She rolled her eyes at him.

'He won't _be_ in our tent,' she reassured him. 'That thing's barely big enough just for the two of us. He said he's perfectly willing to set up his own with some of our spare hides.'

Lleryn grumbled, hammering pegs into the ground with a little more force than necessary, but made no further comment.

* * *

Lleryn's foul mood lasted well into the night, even when he was in the relative privacy of the tent with Margot, bedding down for the night. The shuffles of Gralvus getting comfortable in his own makeshift tent nearby were all too audible, and Margot caught Lleryn scowling darkly in his bedroll.

'What's gotten into you?' she whispered. 'You're being very obtuse.'

'In all truthfulness, I had been _hoping_ for us to have the night to ourselves,' he growled. 'I wanted to make everything up to you tonight. I had plans.'

Margot blushed. 'That would have been very nice, I'll agree, but there will be other nights for that - right now our concern is helping Gralvus,' she told him in measured tones. Ignoring his muttered oath, she turned over and closed her eyes, not wanting to admit that she, too, had been rather looking forward to some solitude with Lleryn.


	20. Chapter 19: Patience

If Margot had ever dared to entertain the hope that Lleryn would become a little more clement towards the old man as the next day went on, then she was very wrong indeed. For Lleryn, Gralvus was nothing but an infuriating obstacle, so much so that he was stubbornly indifferent to the fact that the priest would be alone and terrified without them. Lleryn had never had much patience for those who depended too heavily on others, having spent so long fighting for his own survival. He had not kept himself alive for over two hundred years by relying on other peoples' kindness - and Azura knew there had been precious few kind people around him to begin with. Gralvus was impossible for him to even begin to sympathise with - he kept himself aloof and distant from the quivering, tubby little old man, who was not even half his age and yet already crinkled and white-bearded. Margot's gentleness with the old coward only aggravated Lleryn even more, especially since she seemed more inclined to talk with the former.

Gralvus had effectively put a damper on the passionate activities Lleryn had had planned to partake in with Margot; there was no way to indulge in his longing to explore her thoroughly and properly while that little priest hung around, and there was nothing he could do about it.

* * *

That evening, they had set up camp a little earlier, for Lleryn had - just because Margot asked nicely - needed time to hunt the extra meat to feed their inept little guest. The long grasses of the plains were teeming with small foraging creatures, if one knew where to look, and no sooner had the sun began to set than Lleryn returned to camp with three limp rabbits in his hands.

What man couldn't hunt for himself? he thought derisively, doubting that the fat old Imperial had ever had the need to kill anything to keep himself fed. There he was, sitting on a flattish stone, being cossetted by sweet Margot, who had wrapped him in a fur blanket. Lleryn sniffed, stalking moodily on the edge of the firelight, red eyes gleaming. It gave him a small amount of satisfaction to see the priest give a little gasp of fright at the sight of him, though it was at the expense of an arched eyebrow from Margot. Lleryn sat himself down with folded legs, drawing a hunting blade from his pack, and proceeded to skin his quarry with swift expertise.

'Would you like me to warm you some herb-tea?' Margot asked Gralvus, for the man was rather nervously watching the tall Dunmer's blade as it worked on the floppy rabbit bodies.

'Oh - er, yes, please, that would be lovely,' he replied, and she gave him a kind smile, walking over to where the water-skins and cups were kept. She paused on her way past Lleryn and, bending down, planted a quick kiss upon his frowning mouth.

'Thank you, Lleryn,' she murmured in quiet gratitude. 'I really appreciate the effort. We'll eat very well tonight, _and _tomorrow.'

'Margot...' he whispered, lifting his chin.

She kissed him a second time, briefly and shyly, then straightened up before Gralvus could notice. 'A bit of patience,' she smiled. 'You're doing brilliantly.' She hurried off to find the cups and water, leaving him sitting there moody and aching. Setting his jaw, he resumed his task, only partially consoled by Margot's tender encouragement.

* * *

'Ioren was a good boy, you know,' Gralvus sighed later, as he sipped at his steaming cup. 'He'd grown up with the stories of Talos' greatness, and was so angry about the outcome of the war. He would have left to join the Stormcloaks with some of the other local lads, but he had a bit of a bad limp in his left leg and wouldn't have been able to keep up with much of the soldiering. So he kept his amulet of Talos instead, in secret, as his way of rebelling.' He shook his head sadly. 'I warned him of the dangers, of course, but even _I_ had no idea that there'd be people willing to betray him to the justiciars - or that the punishment would be so...severe...' He mopped at his face, and Margot patted his arm sympathetically.

'There was nothing you could do,' she reassured him. 'I don't think _anyone_ could have foreseen such a thing...' She took a sip from her own cup. 'But...who exactly _were_ those golden elves?'

'They were Thalmor justiciars - High Elves of the Aldmeri Dominion,' he answered. 'They patrol every corner of Skyrim in search of so-called heretics, killing and abducting indiscriminately.' He shivered. 'I've never feared elves as much...'

'Well, not all elves are quite so barbaric,' Margot said gently in consolation.

From outside the firelight, Lleryn methodically ripped the skin from the flesh of the last rabbit with a lusty tearing sound, making Gralvus wince. Margot sighed inwardly, narrowing her eyes, but said nothing.

'Don't mind Lleryn,' she reassured him in an undertone. 'He can be grumpy and a bit intimidating at times, but it's not something he can help. He's really quite a dear, once you get to know him better.'

Gralvus didn't appear convinced, but did not make any reply to this, instead taking a deep gulp of his drink.

* * *

Lleryn chopped and cooked the meat in silence, stonily ignoring Gralvus. To have waited so very long for this moment, and then, just as he had found Margot accepting of his attentions, to be forced to be patient for even longer, was something that grated severely upon his nerves. As it was, he could only sit at the fireside and brood, limited to merely _imagining_ the things he would do with Margot if they were alone.

However, all that managed to accomplish was to make him aroused, frustrated and angry, reduced to tearing at his meal and imagining horrible things happening to his unwanted guest.

Lleryn looked over at the little man, the firelight dancing in his crimson eyes and throwing every harsh line of his face into relief. Gralvus gave a little squeak of terror, quivering before such a menacing gaze. _Yes, little man, I've taken down rampaging kagoutis twice your size and stuck my daggers through the hearts of men greater than you. You are right to be afraid of me. There was a time when I killed men such as you for less than the indignity you are dealing me, for keeping me from that delicious beautiful n'wah who insists on driving me insane..._

He held Gralvus' helpless eyes, smouldering with wrath, calling upon the strength of his ancestors to keep him from leaping at the man -

Margot's hand upon his shoulder took him by surprise, distracting him from his brooding. Leaning to his ear, she pleaded with him in an undertone: 'Can you at least _try_ not to be so frightening? You know he's already terrified of you.'

'He is, is he?' muttered Lleryn grimly. 'Good.'

'Ugh!' Margot swatted at him, eliciting a growl. 'You're incorrigible.'

* * *

After a tense meal that Margot had vainly tried to lighten, and while Lleryn was occupied elsewhere, Gralvus approached her. 'Margot, you seem to me a very lovely and kind young woman,' he said quietly. 'But are you...certain it is _wise _to travel alone with your, er, skilled companion? I have no doubt that you are a sensible girl, but I do worry...'

'I trust Lleryn with my life,' she told him, with firm certitude. 'He has been my most loyal friend and guardian.'

'But...is it not true that the Dunmer worship daedra?' whispered Gralvus, lines of worry marking his brow. 'No good can come from such involvements with dark forces -'

'My people are not indiscriminate daedra-worshippers,' Lleryn unexpectedly spoke up, appearing from the shadows far closer than Margot had thought him to have been. 'We worship only the three _good _daedra - Azura, Mephala and Boethiah. The other daedric princes who form the House of Troubles are rightfully shunned.'

Gralvus was sweating nervously. 'But - but how can they be good daedra, as you call them? They are daedric princes who delight in betrayal, murder and darkness!'

Lleryn narrowed his eyes. 'I would not expect someone such as you to understand this part of Dunmeri culture,' he answered. 'We are a cursed race, yes, but you have no authority to denounce our faith.'

Such was the terror in Gralvus' eyes that Margot grabbed Lleryn's arm, soothing him as best as she could. 'Religion is a very, very complicated matter even within _one_ faith,' she said in measured tones. 'So there's no point in getting worked up over such different forms of worship, hmm? Now let's bed down for the night, it's been a long day's walk.'

Lleryn's crimson gaze still burned, but he relented and prowled off, leaving Gralvus tugging nervously at his beard.

'Forgive me,' he apologised. 'I didn't mean to speak of things I know nothing about - I have offended him...'

Margot patted his arm, giving him a smile. 'Don't worry,' she murmured. 'Lleryn's been a little...stressed, lately. You've done nothing wrong.'

Bidding him goodnight, she left him to sort out his tent-hides and spare fur blankets, sincerely hoping Lleryn's mood would be improved with sleep.


	21. Chapter 20: Unseen

Through the night, Lleryn turned and shifted over and over, so restless that Margot had to roll over and glare at him.

'For the love of Mara, Lleryn, will you lie still and go to sleep?' she whispered.

She heard the rumble of his growl, and he turned over to fix her with livid red eyes. 'I'm trying!' he hissed back. 'But I can't stop thinking about what we could be doing together, right now, if it weren't for _him_! I've been hard as rock all evening!'

She blinked furiously, blushing. 'Well, I want you, too, Lleryn, but there's nothing we can do about that here! Think about something else.'

'Margot...' he grumbled in warning.

'What? You're letting yourself get overly frustrated, and it's making you more bad-tempered than you should be,' she reasoned stubbornly, and added: 'Besides...just think about how much nicer it'll be, once we're finally alone after waiting for it...'

Lleryn gave a deep groan. 'You're _really _not helping.'

She sighed, at a loss what to say. 'I don't understand it - you've never been like this before,' she said. 'We've been travelling alone for a long, long time, and you never got yourself into such a state.'

He growled. 'I'm just as surprised as you are, believe me!' he replied. 'I haven't had such strong urges since the days of my youth! I thought myself long, long past all that - after everything that happened, and through all those years wasting away in that frozen city, I thought nothing would warm my blood like that again. True, I had brief thoughts about Atheron's sister, but that was more out of loneliness than anything...And then...and then _you_ came to me...' He closed his eyes, and when he opened them again, they burned even stronger than before. 'You with your damned softness and all that infuriating kindness. You're a true mystery to me, Margot. Of all the humans I've met in my life - in Morrowind _and _in Skyrim - you are the only one who's been worth knowing. And I don't know how in Mephala's name you've done it, but you've somehow brought all of that old fire raging back into me. You - a silly little Breton too gentle for her own good! When even a perfectly attractive member of my own race couldn't entice my interest!'

Margot stared at him in silence, blinking, rather stunned by what he had just said. She had had no idea about any of this...was she really so appealing, in his eyes? For a long while she gazed at him, while he stared back in stubborn belligerance. Then, without a word, she swiftly sat up, getting out of her bedroll and bundling an armful of furs around herself. Lleryn watched her in surprise.

'What - what are you doing?' he demanded, for she had started tugging at his own furs.

'Come with me, Serathis,' she ordered him sternly. 'Right now.'

Stunned and still very disgruntled, he complied, asking what in the world was going on. Margot ignored him, fiercely untying the tent's opening and dragging him by the arm once he was decently covered by furs. The air outside had very little wind to chill it, and she took a great lungful of it before pulling Lleryn along with her as she strode across their little campsite.

Under his hides, Gralvus started awake and called out tremulously: 'Who's there? Margot?'

'It's alright, you're in no danger - go back to sleep,' she called, marching past without a break in pace.

'Margot, what -' Lleryn hissed, but she silenced him firmly, leading him away from the encampment and up the grassy hill. Confused and annoyed, Lleryn cursed and complained when his bare feet were stubbed on the odd stone, but Margot was deaf to all of it, dragging him to the top with single-minded purpose. On the other side of the hill was a small dip, where the shapes of rugged rocks were outlined in Secunda's silver moonlight. Lush shrubs wound their stringy roots around them, for a shallow, mineral-rich stream cut through the hillside nearby, running its colourful silt down to the plains below.

'Isn't that where we filled our water-skins?' Lleryn asked, perplexed.

'We're not here for that,' Margot growled, and took him around the rocks, where she finally relinquished him.

'Would you care to explain to me why you've dragged me to this particular place, then?' he asked tetchily, readjusting his cloak where she had half-pulled it off his shoulder in her haste.

Margot sighed, fixing him with a look. 'Because this,' she said, 'is where we can be alone and unseen.'

His whole form stilled, all of the annoyance gone from his face, entire body tense with realisation. Margot gave him no time to answer; with a swift movement she had dropped her furs on the ground and quickly unfastened her sleeping-garments. Unashamed and decisive, she stepped out of them, fully aware of Lleryn's rapt gaze upon her. He was speechless, beyond all words now, those heavy-lidded eyes suddenly lit by hunger. She knew full well now that he wanted her just as keenly as she wanted him, and there was no way she could have spent the night in that tent beside him, knowing that she couldn't touch him.

His breath shallow, Lleryn's deft hands undid his own cloak, letting it drop to the ground. Never once did his eyes leave her, and only when his tall form was gleaming bare and dark in the moonlight did he come forward, every muscle tense, rigid with anticipation. Yet even as he stood before her, so near that she could feel the heat of his body and catch the heady scent of arousal that clung to him, he held himself back, prolonging the sweet expectation of the moment.

It was Margot who dared move first, laying a hand upon his chest, tracing the unusual structure of his high-set, prominent ribcage, which she took to be another feature of elven anatomy. His skin was warm, firm, puckered by the odd scar but otherwise smooth over his bony frame. Lleryn's eyes grew heavy and she became aware of his own palm gently tracing her neck and shoulder, his breath hitching slightly as he lowered his carress to her breast. The pinkness of her was new and enticing to him, and the sight of those red eyes lit by desire was just as great an allure to Margot. She stroked the line of his sharp cheekbones, her thumb resting upon the softness of his lower lip. Wordlessly she leaned forward, pressing herself to his unyielding, tense form, and stood on the tips of her toes to kiss him.

It was better than she ever remembered, now that they both were fully aware of everything. Now she could fully appreciate the mastery of his coaxing mouth against hers, making her wonder how he had come to have such skill. His hands cupped her face, running a curious thumb over the roundness of her ear, making her laugh breathlessly.

Gradually she pulled him down to the ground with her, very much ready and willing, and he wholeheartedly responded, settling over her and smoothly making his entrance. There was no fumbling this time - he moved with just as much tenderness as thoroughness, exploring all he could of her and encouraging her to do the same. This time Margot learned that it was not only his ears that were responsive to her touch but also the hollow of his neck, just as Lleryn's own clever hands found parts of her that she had never even known to be so sensitive. But what she enjoyed best was the sound of his voice, his groans roughened by pleasure, the outlandish exclamations he made in what could only be Dunmeris when he felt her climax. After having bent her limbs in all kinds of surprising ways and given much gentle instruction, Lleryn, too, tipped over the all-important edge with a shuddering sigh, eyes squeezed shut in near-painful ecstasy. Margot found herself buzzing with warmth all over afterward, as if Lleryn had done the muscle-trick on her whole body - which, she thought privately, he more or less had. With a sound of intense satisfaction, Lleryn sat himself down, every muscle relaxed and gleaming with exertion. 'Oh, by the Three, Margot...' he panted. 'I needed that more than you can imagine.'

'I don't think I can stand up,' Margot sighed, blissfully spread out under the stars as she was. Lleryn cast an appreciative eye over her, smiling.

'Why can't we just stay like this?' he murmured wistfully after a while. 'Leave that old fetcher, run away over the hills to make love as frequently and as loudly as we please?'

Margot sighed. 'We can't do that,' she reasoned. 'The man's lost, and scared. He needs our help.' She heaved herself upright with wobbly arms, and brushed Lleryn's cheek with a kiss. 'Anyway, as long as we camp near convenient little spots like this we _might _be able to slip away together more often than you'd think.'

That perked Lleryn up considerably. 'You really do have my best interests at heart,' he grinned. 'I was worried that our only time together would have remained that clumsy drunken fumble ending with me crying on your chest. I do have a sense of pride, you know.'

Margot stifled a laugh. 'It was endearing.'

'It was a crushing blow to my virility.'

Still teasing one another, they reluctantly dressed and they made their way - a little unsteadily, in Margot's case - back to the camp before they could be missed.


End file.
